


Transhuman

by tfm



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 25,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dystopian future, hacker Penelope Garcia finds herself being hunted by a corrupt organization. Fearing for her life, she must search for help in the strangest of places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Run faster, Penelope._

Not even the mental motivation was enough to help Penelope Garcia get a move on. Her laptop bag was swinging wildly at her side and she sure as hell wasn't letting go of that. It had her entire life on it. It was the reason she was running in the first place. She could live without food for a couple of days, but there was no way she could live without the laptop.

'Come on, Garcia,' Kevin called out from fifty feet ahead of her. She almost snorted. The only baggage he had to deal with was a backpack – much easier to run with. The part of her brain that wasn't entirely focused on getting the hell out of there pondered the possibility of investing in one of those laptop backpacks. Of course, an expense like that would deprive them of food for two or three days.

Rebellion didn't come cheap.

In the end, it wasn't the internal monologue that caused her to push that little bit harder. It was the bullet striking the brickwork six feet to her left.

No, scratch that. She didn't want a backpack. She wanted one of those tiny machines that fit in the palm of your hand. The really expensive kind where you could hack into the government databases with a few clicks if you really knew what you were doing. That kind of machine would pay for itself a dozen times over, the jobs you could take with it. Almost worth the temptation of skipping a few meals here and there.

If she weren't on the run, Garcia would have given the idea a little more consideration. After all, it's difficult to find work when you're too busy stopping yourself from getting killed.

She slid into the doorway at the end of the alleyway, right before Kevin slammed the door shut. They almost had this "fleeing" business down to a fine art. Squat in one place for a few days until they find you, and then run like hell until you find the next place. It had gotten to a point where not even the people already living on the wrong side of the law would take in a pair of low-level hackers on the run from the Corp.

No sooner than the door had shut, a bullet pierced the already splintering wood. They were in the seedier end of town, where security was low, and housing turnover was high. It was easy enough to lose a tail there, but so many other things could go wrong. And since Penelope Garcia didn't believe in guns, running was the only option.

That had never been the long term plan. The long term plan had been to take down the Corp, to end the corruption that plagued the city, but that's a tough gig for an entire army, let alone the two of them.

That's idealism for you.

They ran through the hallways of the ground level of the apartment building. Some doors were ajar, and if Garcia had been listening, she would have heard a variety of noises. Instead, she kept moving. It wouldn't take long for their pursuers to lose interest; no low-level hacker was worth that much effort, especially not for an entry-level Corp employee. It didn't matter how important the data she had stolen was. It wasn't as though anyone would believe any story she put out. What was one hacker when compared to the mighty Corp?

Two _hackers_, she reminded herself. Because Kevin wasn't exactly a useless participant in this venture. He had been with her every step of the way. The good times (of which there were few) and the bad (of which there were considerably more).

They were alive, though, that was something.

That could change soon enough, she realized, hearing the sounds of running footsteps echoing in the hallway behind them. This could be it, this could be the part where all the effort they put into this hopeless coup d'état went to waste. She could almost feel the crosshairs on her back.

The corner. The end of the hall wasn't that far. They could burst into the nearest apartment, giving them a few seconds while their pursuers determined which direction they had gone in. An irrelevant point if she couldn't make that corner.

Kevin, barely a step ahead of her, turned it first. They both screeched to a halt.

Their passage was blocked.

He was about half a head taller than her, and even though he was fully clothed, she could tell that he had some serious muscle going on. Smooth muscle – not clunky bits that made some men look as though they were on the 'roids.

In another circumstance, Garcia might have commented on his attractiveness; on the way he seemed to ooze hotness. It was neither the time, nor the place.

In one smooth movement, the man pushed Garcia and Kevin behind him, and drew a gun.

Garcia didn't know much about guns; she could say with some certainty that it was a black pistol, but beyond that she couldn't tell Glock from Sig. Not that she'd want to.

'How many?' he asked softly. It took Garcia a couple of seconds to realize what he was talking about.

'Two,' she replied, just as quietly. 'There are two of them.'

The moment they rounded the corner, the man let loose two shots in quick succession, both striking their targets dead on. When no loud bangs accompanied the occurrence, Garcia realized that it was a tranq gun.

'Jenkies,' she muttered. A little louder, she asked him, 'Are they dead? Did you kill them?' They definitely looked dead. Eyes closed, chest unmoving. Death was a concept that Garcia hadn't quite gotten used to, even though she'd experienced her fair share of it.

'Unconscious,' the man replied. His voice sounded like honey. 'For a few hours at least. They were trying to kill you.' It wasn't a question.

Garcia didn't answer. She gave Kevin a sideways glance, as if to say "what do we do now?"

'I can help you,' the man said. 'Any enemy of the Corp is a friend of mind.' He stared down at the two unconscious forms in disgust. One of them he kicked in the ribs with gusto.

'What's your name?' Kevin asked nervously.

'My name's Derek,' he revealed. 'And we need to get moving.'


	2. Chapter 2

"Derek" didn't reveal anything beyond his name, and yet Garcia found herself instinctively trusting him. For one thing, if he were with the Corp, it would have been much easier to just let the two goons catch them, rather than putting on a charade. The much simpler reason though, was that she liked to see the good in people, even if she had the sinking feeling that there wasn't really that much good left in the world. It had all been leached out by the Corp. Sucked dry. It heartened her to think that there really were a few of the good guys left. That maybe the rest of them were just hiding.

Kevin was unsure, but not quite to the point of paranoia. He trusted his companion's judgment. That kind of trust was a good thing to have after running together for so long. They'd be long dead without it.

'Are you sure about this?' he asked, as they ran down the corridor after Derek. Their new traveling companion seemed to know where he was going. Nonetheless, Garcia kept an eye out; she didn't want to be led straight into a trap.

'Have you ever known me to be wrong, Captain Suspicion?'

Kevin wrinkled his brow. 'That is by far the worst nickname you've ever given me. Much worse than "Mr. Jigglypants."'

Ahead of them Derek had stopped at a door. As they caught up, he gave them an odd look. 'With the way you two yap on, I'm surprised they haven't caught up to you yet.' The words were not intended to be malicious, Garcia knew. If anything, he sounded amused.

A quick look around told her that Derek was taking them north, out of the slums, and into the more exclusive neighborhoods. If he had a place to go, then it was a risk that was almost worth it; no-one would look for them there. The richer parts of town were where you found the white-collar criminals, the people who embezzled millions from their own companies. It wasn't the kind of place where you'd find a couple of people that accidentally cracked the Corp database.

The dichotomy between the slums and the snobs, as some referred to them, was pretty well defined; the Gibson river snaked through the city, dividing it clean in two. "Coming from the other side of the river" was equally as insulting to both parties. This close to the bay, they were a little less than two clicks from the West Bridge. Garcia knew a couple of people that lived under the bridge; one of them had given her and Kevin two days worth of hot meals after she'd wiped his Corp record. Where he'd actually gotten the meals, she'd never ask. It was better not to.

'I have a bridge pass,' Derek revealed, pulling the slim card from his wallet. 'Can you tweak the access level?'

Garcia frowned. 'Yeah, but…snobville? Are you sure?' Though she knew it was the best option at hand, she still was skeptical. She hadn't left the slums since the death of her parents, almost twelve years prior. Even before being on the Corp hit-list, she and Kevin had shared a derelict apartment in the south end of the slums. From there, they'd run a moderately successful operation. And that's where the trouble had started.

'How did you get a bridge pass anyway?' asked Kevin curiously. The passes were not exactly something handed out by the dozen. There was paperwork to be filled out, backgrounds to be checked. Once it had all checked out, though, the bearer had unfettered passage between the snobs and the slums.

'I know someone,' replied Derek shortly. He didn't elaborate, which only served to pique Garcia's curiosity. It was that curiosity that kept getting them into trouble so often.

'"Someone" who?'

The "someone" Derek referred to could only be a Corp employee; while it was easy enough to break through the software, getting a card was another matter altogether.

'I'm not about to go blowing their cover. You know what the Corp will do if they find out they've got a rogue employee.'

Garcia nodded. The fate of those that betrayed the Corp was well known, even by those who tried to limit contact. It was so brutal, so deterring, that it kept most citizens in line. The fact that Derek was even willing to disclose that he _had _a source was surprising to Garcia.

Derek and Kevin kept watch as Garcia popped open the lid of the laptop. On a good day, she could break basic Corp encryptions in under five minutes. A bridge pass was as basic as it got; the cattle tended to stay in their own field.

Of course, not all cattle were alike.

'Done!' announced Garcia, with far more elation than the situation warranted. It had taken her six minutes and forty-three seconds. Stress was taking its toll. The pass would now allow three persons to cross the bridge; Derek Morgan (the name already imprinted on the pass), Paula Saxon, and Keith Elbridge (the names on Garcia and Kevin's latest batch of ). The false names would serve them well enough until the Corp caught on. They were just lucky that photo recognition software was inefficient at best.

To Garcia's surprise, instead of leading them to the metro station, Derek instead veered towards the car lot. Even on the other side of the river, not many people had cars. It wasn't about the expense so much as the efficiency of the Greater Lassiter Metropolitan Railway Line – Glamrail, as it was colloquially known. The Corp had gotten one thing right. People who drove cars either left the city a lot, or valued their privacy, and for Derek Morgan (if that was indeed his real name) Garcia had her money placed firmly on the latter. Apart from his name, he hadn't revealed anything about himself, but then, that was more than they had offered. It wasn't as though time was in the greatest abundance.

The car was a navy blue, not too expensive looking, but not too cheap either. It was the kind of car you didn't give a second glance to; on the other side of the river, anyway. Any car left hanging around in the slums was likely to be stolen or vandalized. The lot, brimming with security, was the only safe place to park. Mostly Corp agents parked there, but there was the occasional missionary, or the average citizen who needed to go into the slums for one reason or another. As long as you had a bridge pass, no further questions were asked. The Corp was far too busy persecuting the lowest common denominator to care.

Garcia clutched the laptop bag to her side as she slid into the passenger seat. Even in the relative safety of the car, she wasn't letting it out of her sight. Her whole life is on that thing. Pictures of her childhood, of her parents. All the programs she's been working on. That single file that got them here. If she lost that, then everything they'd given up would be for nothing. She had a back-up at one point, but that had been destroyed the last time they'd been on the run from trigger-happy Corp agents.

'I'm Penelope,' she said abruptly, as Derek shifted the car into second gear. 'But most people call me Garcia.'

'I'm Kevin,' Kevin added helpfully from the back seat. 'Most people call me Kevin.' It wasn't as though telling him their names could do any harm. After all, they were already on the run.

Derek nodded, his attention split between driving, and tapping out a message on his cell phone. Garcia found herself terrified for one fleeting second, as she remembered the fiery deaths of her parents. It would almost be ironic if they had survived running from the Corp for so long, only to die in a blazing car wreck.

'You shouldn't text and drive,' she said softly as he put the phone away. He seemed almost stunned at the insinuation that he was anything other than an impeccable driver.

'It's dangerous,' piped up Kevin unnecessarily from the back.

Derek smirked slightly. 'I'll try to keep it to a minimum,' he said as he turned left into the bridge lane. It was midday on a Tuesday; no-one was crossing, which meant they had a short wait until they found out whether or not the access modification had worked. Garcia held her breath as Derek scanned the three , and the pass.

The tiny light flashed green. The boom barrier rose.

They were through.


	3. Chapter 3

Emily Prentiss tapped her fingers against the solid mahogany table.

Board meetings were the ninth circle of hell; of that she was sure. The Corporation – the Corp – never did anything by halves; not world oppression, and not seven-hour long board meetings. Emily was there representing the Department of Transport, a position she had, admittedly, been handed on a silver platter. The fact that her mother was the Deputy Director helped somewhat in that respect. But what the board members didn’t know, what her mother didn’t know, what no-one else knew was that Emily had a secret.

This particular secret was the main reason – hell, the _only_ reason – she had accepted the job in the first place. Because a Department head had better access to classified information than a lackey does. The kind of classified information that could bring the Corporation down. Of course, the situation was two-fold. It meant that she had that much further to fall.

  

  1. Ten years ago, she would have been surprised to see what the future held. Never had she seen herself rebelling against the organization that  had all but raised her. She’d lived in a Corp home, studied at a Corp university. It was only after having actually entered the Corp had she realized just what they were doing. From there, it had been a dangerous game of making contacts and collecting intelligence.
  



What no-one ever mentioned – what was rarely ever seen in any of the classic spy movies – was that covert operations could be so dry.

As the head of the Department of Health Services rambled on about cutting hospital funding, Emily resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Even from across the table, she could feel her mother’s gaze burning into her. Reprimanding her for the indiscretion of not paying enough attention in this agonizingly boring meeting. All she really wanted to do was find a quiet, unmonitored place, log into her secured laptop, and find out whether or not her contact had managed to rescue those two hackers from the slums. Admitting that here would be tantamount to the death sentence.

Luckily, she had always been able to compartmentalize. There was a difference, though, between conspiring to bring down the major power of the city, and sitting through another treatise on why speculums were unnecessary for critical care patients.

She almost sighed in relief as she heard the treatise come to a close. It was almost at the point where she seriously considered falling asleep right there, consequences be damned.

‘Agent Prentiss?’

Oh.

Right.

Ignoring the looks of derision from both her mother and Director Strauss, Emily launched into her own report; a budget review of Glamrail.

In her own humble opinion, the Greater Lassiter Metropolitan Railway was running smoothly, both north and south of the river. There had been a few incidents at some of the slum stations, but nothing worth making drastic changes over.

That attitude wouldn’t fly with Strauss, though. It was bad enough that the railway went through the slums in the first place. Most of those who lived north of the river were quite happy to pretend that the south didn’t exist at all.

And that was a misconception Emily was hoping to change

*          *          *

Twenty minutes later, she found reprieve as they broke for lunch. Emily resisted the urge to get the hell out of there, knowing that it would be pretty damn suspicious. Instead, she went to the nearest bathrooms, walking straight past the sandwich buffet that the members of the board now milled around. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught her mother’s glare, and casually ignored it. Reprimands could wait.

No sooner than she had pulled the cubicle door shut, she slipped the tiny palm-held computer from her coat pocket. Her go-to guy in IT had pretty much guaranteed that it would be safe from prying eyes, and his advice hadn’t failed her yet.

In flashing green text, the words _1 New Message_ popped onto the screen. A few taps revealed the contents of the message. It was a simple code that Emily managed to translate without any significant conscious effort.

_Montana: Retrieved targets, taking them back to AT. Pilgrim._

Emily sighed with relief.

Good.

Fantastic.

The news that Pilgrim had managed to get to them before the Corp agents was almost enough to make up for the crappy day she was having thus far. It meant that the resistance was just one step closer to bringing the organization down.

She was almost surprised to discover that her fingers were shaking as she typed out a reply in the same code.

_Pilgrim: Sit tight. Will contact tonight at 1900 hours. Be safe. Montana._

She gave a short smile when she received his reply just seconds later.

_You too._

*          *          *

On her way back to the conference room, Emily found herself caught in an ambush by the person she least wanted to see. While they were from the same bloodline, there was nothing motherly about Elizabeth Prentiss’ feelings towards her daughter.

‘You need to work on your attitude, Agent Prentiss.’

This time, Emily didn’t quite manage to resist that urge to roll her eyes. The gesture served only to make the Deputy Director even angrier.

‘Your insolence is only hurting you, Emily. You know you’re only in this position because of my influence.’

What Emily really wanted to say was “Fuck you, mom.” Instead, she said. ‘You do realize that the 95% citizen approval rate had absolutely nothing to do with “your influence?”’

Instead of praising the status of the department, Elizabeth only sighed. ‘One day you’ll thank me, Emily,’ she said, and walked back into the conference room, leaving Emily to wonder exactly what she was supposed to be thankful for.


	4. Chapter 4

Garcia watched with wonder as they drove through unfamiliar streets. The place seemed familiar to Derek, though; he navigated the snobs just as easily as he did the slums.

It was one thing to look at the snobs from across the river, but here, up close, everything seemed so much grander. It had been so long since she had seen this type of place. Clean buildings, quiet streets. It seemed utopian in comparison to where she’d spent the last decade. In the back of her mind, there were vague memories of her childhood home, an apartment overlooking the bay. From the balcony, you could see the waves crashing against the shore, sand and surf in a strikingly beautiful dichotomy. It shocked her that what could look so beautiful from one side of the river, could be so ugly from the other. In the slums, no-one went to the beach for _any_ purposes. It was a dark, and ultimately, depressing place. Those who did go were liable to end up vanishing into thin air.__

They’d been driving along the same street for ten minutes – the same perfect buildings of metal and glass – before Derek turned into a side street. Garcia barely had time to read the word “Avalon Towers” embossed on a shiny brass sign before the car swung into a parking garage.

‘You live here?’ asked Garcia, frowning. If he had an apartment in the north, then why had he been in the slums?

‘I grew up in the slums,’ he replied, not actually answering her question. ‘I like to keep a place there, to remind myself not to get caught up in any of this Corp bullshit.’

‘What do you do for a living?’ asked Kevin. Garcia made a slight coughing noise, as if she thought they were asking too much too soon. Apparently, Derek agreed; the answer he gave was vague, non-committal:

‘I do a bit of everything.’

There was silence as the trio rode the elevator upwards. It had been a long time since Garcia had been in an elevator this nice. The decorationswere stylish, yet simple. A far cry from the graffiti stained death-traps of the slums. In her torn and stained clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in days, Garcia felt out of place. Derek too, seemed to notice this_._

‘This apartment complex has shopping facilities,’ he said. ‘I can get them to send up some clothes in your size.’

Garcia raised an eyebrow. It sounded as though this place was swankier than she had originally thought, which brought up questions about the kind of people that lived there. Derek Morgan had secrets; that was a fact of which she had no doubt.

Hackers and secrets did not mix well.

*          *          *__

Garcia closed her eyes as the pellets of hot water struck her skin. It felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a hot shower, complete with selection of scented soaps. For a while now, they’d been getting by on sanitation packs, and the cold, filthy showers of public restrooms. Every now and then, they had managed to bargain themselves a roof to sleep under. Sometimes that had come with a shower. Sometimes it had come with more running.

It was nice to slow down and enjoy the luxuries of life. At least, they were luxuries to Garcia. She figured that most people – most people who lived north of the river – would consider them basic necessities. Just another one of those injustices of the world.

The water trickled to a stop, as she turned off the shiny, gold-colored faucets. There was a towel folded on a chair at the far side of the bathroom, along with a pile of clothes that Derek must have brought it at some point during her shower. She didn’t realize she’d been in there so long. She’d been thinking. Thinking about fate, about the future. Once upon a time, she hadn’t believed that a life could be turned around so drastically in a single moment. Now, though, it had happened to her twice. First, at the death of her parents, second at meeting Derek today. She wondered vaguely what part this mysterious man would play in her future. Would they band together to take down the Corp?

In spite of Garcia’s optimism, even that sounded like wishful thinking.

*          *          *

The moment she had left the bathroom, Kevin slinked in there, unable to hide his joy at the thought of being clean once more. Derek wasn’t in sight. It seemed almost a foreign concept for her – an apartment so large that you could go hours without seeing the other occupants. Of course, she was probably exaggerating that fact, but having lived in an apartment that was a shoebox in comparison, this place seemed like a mansion.

‘Derek?’ she called out tentatively.

‘In here.’ His voice came from a doorway to Garcia’s left – a room which was the kitchen, if the small fragment of stainless steel countertop she could see was anything to indicate.

‘I figured you were probably hungry,’ he said, as she walked in slowly. He was cooking something up on the stove – Garcia couldn’t quite tell what he was cooking, but it was making her mouth water nonetheless. She wasn’t hungry as such; she and Kevin had eaten this morning – an instant meal from a StayFresh pack – but a home-cooked meal came with the frequency of a hot shower in the slums.

‘You don’t have to do all this,’ she said suddenly.

‘I like to cook,’ he shrugged.

‘No, I mean…Rescuing us from the Corp, bringing us here…It’s all too much.’ She spoke quickly, flustered by the amount of attention he was paying them. It seemed so…unnatural.

‘I have my reasons.’ His mouth twitched slightly, and for a moment, Garcia thought he was going to elaborate. Instead, he gave her a charming smile. ‘There are two singles in the spare room.’ He spoke a little louder, which only seemed to highlight the abrupt change of subject. ‘But if you and Kevin would prefer to share a bed-’

Garcia cut him off before he could go any further. ‘We aren’t together,’ she blurted out, before realizing how it might have sounded to Derek. ‘Sorry, that came out a little…Kevin’s gay,’ she whispered, even though she could still hear the shower going in the bathroom. ‘You really think a straight man would _choose_ to wear a shirt like that?’

‘I didn’t mean to assume…’

‘No, don’t worry about it. You’re not the first.’ She smirked slightly. ‘Truth told, I think he’s a little smitten with you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ grinned Derek. ‘He’s not the first. So, did you want lunch now?’

‘Yeah,’ Garcia said. ‘That sounds good.’ It seemed strange to think that it was only a little bit after one o’clock in the afternoon. Though they hadn’t technically done much that day, the events _had_ been action-packed, and Garcia had the feeling that whatever was going on, it definitely wasn’t over yet.


	5. Chapter 5

At precisely 1 o’clock p.m, Spencer Reid retreated into his tiny, windowless office for lunch, locking the door behind him. Doctor Gideon didn’t allow food in the lab – apparently it was a confounding variable – and as a mere research assistant, Spencer wasn’t about to screw up his chances of a good reference. If he did well here, then that could mean everything for his career.

He pulled a plain brown paper bag from the bottom drawer of his desk. He didn’t quite make enough to buy his lunches from the cafeteria of the building, and the StayFresh vending machine was broken. He could have fixed it if he was so inclined, but Spencer preferred making his own lunches. They tasted better, for one thing – the StayFresh meals were usually bland and generic – plus, it gave him an excuse not to accompany the others down to the cafeteria. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like them – they were all pleasant enough people in their own right – but usually, he preferred his own company.

That restriction, however, did not extend to the occupant of the small cage under his desk. Clearing aside some unfinished paperwork, he shifted the cage so it sat in front of him.

‘Hey, girl,’ he whispered, careful not to speak too loudly. The rat peeked out at him, tiny black eyes shining in the light. Officially, the rat had been designated P-3442, but after a blunder from one of the other research assistants, the rat’s experimental data had been corrupted. Instead of incinerating the rat as he had been ordered, Spencer had instead rescued her, intending to take the creature home once he got the chance.

That was yesterday.

Today, the rat’s name was Houdini, in spite of the gender differences between the namesake and the animal. Beyond all odds, she had escaped the testing that would probably have killed her. The experiments had a high mortality rate. It was their objective to lower that mortality rate, a goal that was taking a long time. At the rate things were going, human trials were at least a century off.

Exactly what they were supposed to be doing to these rats, Spencer wasn’t quite sure. The research proposal had been censored by the Corp – only those with a high enough clearance level knew what was going on. Spencer’s clearance could barely get past the lunch menu.

Technically speaking, EarthTech Industries was a subsidiary of the Corp. Their name was generic enough that no-one – least of all the employees – knew what they were supposed to be researching at any time.

As Spencer pulled his peanut-butter sandwich from the paper bag, Houdini fully emerged from her hidey-hole beneath shredded newspaper.

He tore off a tiny corner of bread, small enough that Houdini wouldn’t choke on the sticky substance. She devoured it with enthusiasm, which was no surprise to Spencer. The lab rats had been fed nothing but pellets for the last two months.

Both Spencer and Houdini jumped, startled, at the sound of a knock on the door. ‘Spencer, are you in there?’

It was Gideon’s voice – Doctor Jason Gideon, Ph. D in Biochemistry. He also happened to be Spencer’s thesis adviser. Being a research assistant was just a temporary job, albeit an important one. Once he had his Doctorate, Spencer would be able to run his own experiments.

‘Uh, just a second,’ he replied frantically, in a hurry to get Houdini’s cage back on the floor. He’d have to sneak her out of there that night, under the cover of darkness.

‘Don’t worry about the rat, Spencer, I just wanted to talk.’

Spencer flushed slightly. He hadn’t expected to be caught out so easily. Giving Houdini an apologetic look, he walked over to the door to let Gideon in.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, no sooner than Gideon had stepped inside. ‘I couldn’t just kill her like that.’

Gideon smiled. ‘I know. And I respect you for that. Life is a very important thing; regardless of whether it’s a human life or not. But if you feel so strongly, then maybe this isn’t the place you should be working.’

Spencer gave his boss a slight shrug. ‘What would you suggest?’

‘You’re a smart kid, Spencer. One of the smartest people I’ve ever worked with, in fact. You don’t need a piece of paper to tell yourself that.’

It almost sounded as though he was being fired, Spencer thought. He frowned. ‘I need the work experience.’ And the money.

‘I’ve got a few friends,’ said Gideon. ‘I know that any one of them would jump at the chance to have an employee of your caliber. You could go much further in a private company than you ever could at EarthTech.’

Spencer knew that Gideon was right. He had only taken the job in the first place because he had needed the money. By the time he had figured out what “experimental studies” really entailed, it was far too late to back out. He was being given an exit, and he was going to take it.

‘Thank-you very much, sir,’ Spencer said sincerely. ‘It has definitely been a honor working with you.’

Gideon tipped him a slight wink, and handed Spencer a card. ‘Here’s my number,’ he said. ‘If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days on the job front. Consider yourself on paid leave.’

He turned to leave.

‘Oh, and Spencer? P-3442 – she likes carrots and berries.’

Spencer smiled, and then turned his attention back to Houdini.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘That was unexpected.’

*          *          *

It pained Gideon to let go one of his best research assistants. Despite their high I.Qs, the rest of his staff were blathering idiots in comparison. Spencer Reid was a very gifted young man. He was also a very innocent young man. For all his experience of the world, Spencer had no idea of the injustices that were taking place at EarthTech. To be fair, hardly anybody did, but they didn’t have the moral compass that Spencer did.

By letting him go now, Gideon was hopefully, saving the research assistant from an early death. If Spencer had ever risen the ranks of EarthTech – and he _would_have – he would have seen things that would make a lesser man balk in fear. And he would have done something about it. He’d have been slaughtered mercilessly by the Corp’s Department of Security before his fortieth birthday.

That was an injustice for which Jason Gideon would not be responsible.


	6. Chapter 6

As soon as Kevin had finished his shower, he had joined them at the long dining table in the room just off the kitchen. There was only one matching chair sitting at the table; Derek had retrieved two more of them from a storage closet. Garcia figured that, guest room aside, he didn't get too many visitors.

The shirt that Kevin had requested from the clothing catalogue was a lurid green paisley, and clashed horribly against the apartment's décor. Garcia stared at it intently as she slurped up her miso soup. It was almost mesmerizing.

Though she had only known the man for a few hours, Garcia found herself trusting him. He had a very trustable vibe going on. If he turned out to be no better than the rest of them, Garcia knew that she would be very disappointed.

'I grew up north of the river,' she started. 'Loving parents, good upbringing and all that. They died when I was seventeen. Car accident. I dropped off the radar. Moved to the slums. There was nothing left for me here. That was twelve years ago.'

Derek said nothing, though Garcia could tell he was definitely interested in what she had to say.

'I lived alone for a couple of years. Learning the tricks of the trade, taking jobs where I could. And then I met Kevin.'

'She saved my life,' provided Kevin, his voice filled with pride. Garcia felt herself blush slightly, and shook her head slightly. Kevin gave her an affectionate nudge. 'Oh, come on, Penelope. Stop being modest. There were three heavily armed gangbangers who didn't like the fact that I'd hacked their system and replaced their music collection with 21st century Japanese pop. Ms. Quick-thinking here heard the commotion from down the hall, and promised them she'd hack the Global Bank to line their pockets with ill-gotten funds.'

'And did you?' asked Derek, clearly amused.

'I put a time-wipe on their hard-drives, and then we both ran like the wind.' Garcia smiled at the memory. 'And three days later, we're holed up in a cheap apartment in the south of the slums. I finally get around to asking him what the gangbangers had wanted him to do in the first place.' She stopped, allowing Kevin to take over.

'They burst into my apartment at three o'clock in the morning, and demanded that I "hack the internet" for them. I was buck naked at the time, it might be worth mentioning.'

'Wait…"hack the internet?"'

'It also might be worth mentioning that they weren't the brightest of gangbangers.'

Derek grinned, taking a liberal sip of his drink.

'So for the next few years we pooled our resources; making fake for people that were avoiding the Corp, hacking databases, that kind of stuff. And then one day, I'm messing around in the Corp Central Database. A client wanted some classified intel. Paid damn good money for it, too. It's not easy getting into the CCD.'

Derek straightened slightly; a gesture that might have been imperceptible to anyone who hadn't been on the run from the Corp for so long. He was interested before, but he was _very _interested now.

'About half an hour in, I realize that there's something very hinky going on. Their code is all jumbly, and things aren't making sense. Just as I was about to disconnect, I found a file. Complete fluke. I couldn't have found it if I'd been looking. It's not the file the client wants, but it looks interesting anyway. So in my infinite wisdom, I copy it.'

'And that's why the Corp are chasing you,' concluded Derek.

'That's why the Corp are chasing us.' Garcia slumped backwards in her chair slightly. It felt good to tell someone their story. She loved Kevin like a brother, but he had been her only real company for the past two years.

Derek's story, it seemed, was much longer brewing, and yet, it was much simpler.

'I grew up in the slums.' He repeated what he had told them earlier, though this time his voice seemed a lot more sullen. 'Families dying on the streets, people succumbing to diseases that could have been cured in an instant. As if the ignorance wasn't enough, they decided to persecute people for simply being _there_. When I was thirteen, they almost killed me for getting in the way of their patrol. I wasn't doing anything. I was just trying to survive, and they made it so much worse.' He didn't elaborate on how he managed to get out of the situation, and Garcia knew that it was probably better that she didn't ask right away.

'How did you get out of the slums?' Kevin asked, almost completely missing the look on Derek's face.

'I had help,' he said tersely, the tone of his voice apparently enough to tell Kevin that it was probably best that he shut up. Kevin took the advice. Still, there was a slightly uncomfortable silence that was only broken when Derek stood, fork clattering against the table. He wasn't angry. He seemed more…contemplative.

'I need to make a phone call,' he told them, leaving Garcia to roll her eyes at a thoroughly perplexed Kevin.

Things were definitely getting interesting.


	7. Chapter 7

The tiny flashing green display at the bottom of the computer screen told Aaron Hotchner that it was almost one-thirty. Technically speaking, he had a client booked, but said client was more a friend than anything else.

First, though, he had to take this call.

'WSS, this is Hotchner.'

'_Hotch, it's Morgan_.'

Hotch tightened suddenly. He had been waiting for this call all day; waiting to see if all their hard work was going to be sent hurtling back to square one.

'Morgan. How's the day off going?' He leaned to the side, trying to get a better view into the lobby. As far as he could tell, she wasn't there yet.

'_Productive._'

'You've got them?'

'_Yeah, I've got them. Source is making contact tonight, but they've got the file. They don't know what it is, but they've got it._'

'We'll brief tomorrow, then,' announced Hotch. 'I'll make sure everyone's there. You bring what you need to bring.'

'_A'ight. I'll see you then._'

The phone went back into the cradle with an audible click, a sound that was shortly followed by a knock on Hotch's open door. He looked up.

The woman the stood before him had long blonde hair, drawn into an elegant bun. She was wearing a dark skirt-suit, and carried a dark leather handbag. Giving Hotch a significant look, she shut the door behind her.

Jennifer Jareau, reporter for the Lassiter Daily. Ally to their cause. They had cross paths just months ago, as Jennifer – JJ, as she liked to be called – was investigating a story on several missing persons. Believing that the Corp had something to do with these disappearances, her investigation led her to the privately run Weber Security Services, a front company for the resistance. Their numbers weren't particularly high; most people were perfectly happy to let the Corp keep doing what they were doing. Those were the people that didn't know what was going on behind locked doors.

'It's good to see you, Hotch,' said JJ softly, shaking his hand, and then, in a more intimate gesture, kissing him on the cheek.

Hotch immediately picked up on the fact that something was wrong. JJ was never this reserved.

'What's wrong?'

She gave him a half smile, and sat down across from him. 'Will's missing,' she revealed.

Hotch frowned. William LaMontagne Junior was JJ's husband of three months. He'd been at the ceremony, sitting with Morgan in a pew near the back of the church, as the two exchanged their vows. He'd never seen her so happy as on that day.

'I'm sorry,' he said shortly, before adding, 'What happened?'

'He was investigating one of our leads in the slums. That was two days ago. He should be back by now, Hotch.'

There were tears in her eyes, Hotch saw. And with good reason; if the Corp had apprehended Will, then he was as good as dead. That wasn't even the worst of it; if they tortured him, then their covert plotting would be uncovered.

'Are you sure it's the Corp?' Hotch asked, with slight hesitation. Either way it went, he knew that this was no laughing matter. 'The slums are a dangerous place without the Corp. He could have had a run in any number of people that might have kidnapped him.'

JJ bit her lip, wringing her hands against each other. 'I know,' she said. 'It's stupid, but I can't help but get the feeling that this is all going to come crashing down around us.' She took a tissue from the box on Hotch's desk, using it to wipe away a few wayward tears.

'I want to go find him,' she announced resolutely. 'There is no way I'm letting the Corp – letting _anyone_ – take my husband like this. Not now.' She rested a hand against her abdomen – against the baby bump that barely showed.

Hotch was torn. He knew that they needed to get Will back. Not just because he knew their secrets. He was one of them. They didn't leave a man behind. On the other hand, he couldn't let JJ go storming into the slums alone. It was practically suicide. He could go with her, of course, but that wouldn't even come close to evening the odds.

'There's a meeting tomorrow,' he told her. 'Morgan's contact led us to something that could bring the Corp down. You should come.'

He saw her falter. Waiting one more day could make all the difference – he might be dead by the time they made it there. But if they went in with a half-cocked plan, then he'd be just as dead.

Finally, she nodded. 'I'll be there.'

She took a tissue again, making sure that she was presentable to the outside world. Hotch was willing to bet that anyone who asked would be told that Will had taken a sudden leave of absence. It wasn't worth the drama of informing people of his disappearance. Not if the Corp were sniffing around his associates.

As she reached the door, JJ turned back towards Hotch.

'Thank-you,' she said.


	8. Chapter 8

Garcia flicked through the channels on Derek's flat-screen television, unable to hide the wonder on her face. It had been so long since she'd had the chance to sit down, and let her brain rot at some of the content. The laptop could receive some TV stations, but even then, the quality wasn't the best. Digital signals in the slums weren't exactly high on the Corp's list of priorities. They were lucky enough just to get a net connection. Eventually, she settled on the news channel, interested in seeing what things looked like from this side of the river.

Every so often, she cast her gaze back towards the laptop that was now plugged into an electrical outlet on the far side of the room. She couldn't very well do her job with no battery life. Part of her wanted to boot the thing up right away, so she could check her email, a few forum boards and catch up on her cyber life in general. She also wanted to take a brief look at Derek's background. Not an in depth search; just enough to find out who he was, and why he was so intent on taking down the Corp. For that, at least, she wanted to wait until he was asleep, which wouldn't be for hours, at least. The sun hadn't even set yet.

For the moment, she was relishing in the luxury of not having to run. The luxury of not having to look behind her shoulder every few seconds, to see if a Corp agent was following them. Of course, Derek could very well have been an undercover operative, luring them into a false sense of security before striking. That was something that she didn't want to think about. He had been perfectly cordial so far, and while he definitely had a few secrets, she didn't think he was about to sell them out so easily. That was mostly the optimism speaking.

Kevin sat on the loveseat next to her, absent-mindedly fiddling with the buttons of his new shirt. He too, was intrigued by this strange new world. Unlike her, the other hacker had grown up in the slums, albeit in a less dangerous part. Such wonders were almost like heaven to him.

'Two o'clock is business news,' Derek announced matter-of-factly, as if sitting down and watching the news was the most normal thing in the world to him. It probably was, reasoned Garcia. Even if he was fighting against the Corp, the organization rarely persecuted those north of the river. At least not outwardly. As with the slums, there were always unexplained disappearances.

Garcia felt like smirking as the image of the silver-haired Director displayed in the top right hand corner of the screen. In this town, "business" meant the Corp. Those companies that tried to avert the monopoly were usually crushed by the iron fist of fascism. It didn't really help that the Corp owned most of the news stations.

Oppression at its finest.

As long as they had their jewel-lined mansions, the rich were happy. The poor were too busy trying to survive to do anything about it. There were dissenters, of course – any system had those who disagreed – but most of them were smart enough to keep their mouths shut. It was an imperfect system.

Derek gave a snort, as the newsreader described recent events with a tone that would have made genocide sound like some kind of miracle.

'It's like _1984_,' he said. 'Everything's _always_ getting better.'

Garcia recognized the sarcasm, but wasn't quite sure what he was trying to relate it to.

'It's a book,' he revealed, noticing her confusion. 'Old book. Probably can't find it in stores today. Still…Even with all the bad shit going down, they're telling everyone how great things are.' He paused then, his expression one of hesitation. The thought of the Corp screwing them so badly had struck a chord.

'There's something I need to tell you.' The anger had faded from his voice, its rich tones now exhibiting a monotone solemnity.

Garcia straightened. She definitely didn't like that tone of voice. Was he about to kick them out? Turn them over? Had their supposed turn of fortune simply been a wolf in sheep's clothing?

'The people I work for…they're a resistance group against the Corp. We're working to bring them down.'

Was that it? Was he telling them that they were really no safer here than they were in the slums?

No, apparently there was something more to it.

'I wasn't in the slums by accident,' he told them. Garcia felt the blood drain from her face. She knew what was coming. 'I was sent to find you.'

'You we-…Who told you where we were?' Garcia demanded, any warmth towards the man that had rescued them suddenly fading away. Because it hadn't really been a rescue, had it? It was a recruitment.

'My Corp contact-' he started, the guilt evident in both his face and his voice. Garcia chose to ignore it.

'The Corp knows that we're _here_?' she asked him, almost incredulous. 'God, Derek. Do you know how long we've been running from them for?'

On some level, she understood his dilemma. But that wasn't important right then. What was important was that she had trusted him, and he had withheld the truth.

'Just my contact,' he reiterated. 'She's never let me down before.'

'She?' Kevin asked, raising an eyebrow. Garcia shot her friend a look. His irrelevant questions weren't helping the situation.

'Montana,' said Morgan, as if it explained everything. 'I've been in contact – _secure _contact – with her for over four years. She hasn't let me down once.'

Garcia shook her head. She couldn't deal with this. She couldn't deal with an agenda. She was just trying to survive.

'Look, Derek, we appreciate your help. But I think it's time we left.' She got to her feet, and started gathering her things. Derek's expression was a mixture of surprise and hurt.

'I don't think that's the best idea,' he said softly.

'You know how it works, Derek. The Corp won't look at us twice, this side of the river, as long as we're not breaking any laws.' She tossed a bundle of notes onto the table. It wasn't quite the last of their cash, but it was getting there. They weren't freeloaders.

'Good luck,' she told him, her voice softening a little. For all that he had done, she was still sincere in her hopes for his success. He'd have to succeed without them, though.

'Garcia, please…'

'Kevin, are you coming?'

Kevin scrambled to his feet, giving Derek one last look. Garcia could see the doubt in his eyes.

'Yeah,' he said finally. 'I'm coming.'


	9. Chapter 9

Garcia choked back a tear. Was it too much to hope that there was one, single good person left in the world? They all had an agenda. They were all in it for something else. Kevin was all she had left.

The two of them were a few blocks from Avalon Towers, apprehensive at being caught out as nothing more than a couple of lowlifes from the slums. Though they were dressed in clean (and new) clothes, there was still that lingering fear that their identities were as clear as day to the people that walked these streets. They walked differently, talked differently.

‘It’ll be okay,’ said Kevin, his voice filled with uncertainty. He, too, was upset at the revelation of Derek’s betrayal. It was almost as though they _wanted _to trust him, even with all the warning signs flashing in neon colors. ‘We’ll find someone who needs some work done, and we’ll…’ he trailed off, as if suddenly realizing the daunting task ahead of them. Finding employment was a little more difficult north of the river. You needed a permanent residence, a resume, references. All those little things that didn’t really seem to matter when you were spending your days running away from gunfire.

Garcia took inventory, counting the cash that was in the pocket of her new jeans. They had a little less than two hundred left, after the hundred she’d left with Derek. In the slums, it might have lasted them a few weeks. North of the river, she wasn’t quite sure it would last them more than two days.

Survival would have been monumentally easier, had they a working knowledge of the area. Even rich people had their vices, outlets that weren’t exactly sanctioned by the Corp Code.

‘Surely there’s someone that can give us information?’ he wondered softly, as not to be overheard.

‘What do we ask them? “Hi, we’re new in town, could you point us towards the nearest illegal job hunting agency?” That’s not gonna fly, Wonder Boy.’

Walking without really considering where they were going, the two soon found themselves at the entrance to a park. Garcia’s senses were immediately overwhelmed with an abundance of green. Everything seemed so much brighter here, compared to the dull, dirty feeling that the slums gave most people. Still, she knew for a fact that she would rather be back there, where she knew the score.

Damnit. Why did he have to have an agenda? He’d seemed kind, at first glance, as well as being genuinely interested in what they had to say. He wasn’t too hard to look at, either.

‘We could steal a bridge pass somehow,’ suggested Kevin, as they sat on a wooden bench. Garcia let her eyes drift to a bird that landed on the ground nearby. She didn’t know what kind it was. The past few years hadn’t exactly been conducive to learning about particular species.

Garcia shook her head. ‘We don’t steal. Not like that.’

There was a pause. ‘Maybe we should have heard him out.’

When she said nothing, Kevin continued. ‘He seemed legit in his desires to take down the Corp, and he would have given us food, shelter.’

‘And then we’d get the death penalty for treason, instead of five to ten for hacking,’ countered Garcia, all the while thinking that maybe it was better than the alternative. Maybe it was better to stop running, and take a stand. If they had something that interested the resistance group to the point where they would send a man to come and rescue them, then maybe there was a chance after all.

‘Do you think we should go back?’ she asked Kevin, after another long silence.

He put a hand atop of hers, gripping it tightly.

‘I think we should at least find out a little more about what they’re doing.’

*          *          *

‘What if he’s out looking for us?’ asked Garcia nervously, as they walked back up the street.

‘Then we wait, I guess,’ shrugged Kevin, not entirely confident about the circumstances. He stopped. ‘Hey, are we going the right way?’

Garcia looked around. She had thought that the streets seemed a little different, but truth told, she couldn’t really be sure. With its clean buildings, and gridded structure, each part of the city was almost indistinguishable from the rest. On reflection, she realized that the same could be said for the slums, if you didn’t know your way around. Two sides of the same coin.

‘I think…maybe we were a little further north,’ she said, turning to point in the opposite direction.

She stopped, stunned.

There was a gun pointed directly at her head.


	10. Chapter 10

Garcia's heart felt like it was beating a thousand times a minute. They'd been here less than a day, and already they'd started letting their guard down. In the slums, if you stopped paying attention to the world around you, it was tantamount to the death sentence.

She eyed the barrel of the gun, noting the shiny metal of the barrel. There were no scratch marks, no imperfections. It was a weapon that was well made, and well maintained.

Her eyes travelled along the barrel, taking note of the well manicured fingernails and smooth skin of its holder. The hand was steady; not wavering. Dark eyes bored holes into Garcia. She was attractive in a way. Clean professionalism that screamed Corp. Not the kind of Corp agent that just wanted a paycheck. This was a Corp agent that believed in the mission statement. Of course, Penelope Garcia had been wrong before.

The dark eyes didn't leave their target, as the Corp agent lifted her non-dominant wrist. The gun lowered slightly.

'Control, this is Greenaway,' she said. 'Targets have been apprehended. Requesting containment van at the Bandeet building, down Fourth.'

Targets. That was them. But wait – that meant the Corp knew where they were, which meant that either Derek had betrayed them, or something hinky was going on. While she didn't want to believe the former, the latter made things so much more confusing; if it wasn't Derek that had betrayed them, then who was it? His source? One of the members of his resistance group?

The source knew about the two of them, but she wasn't so sure about the resistance group. Derek seemed like the kind of person that kept secrets even from those he was closest to.

'By the order of the city of Lassiter-'

Garcia and Kevin shared a split second look before breaking into a run. Their lives had been defined by running, and they weren't about to change things up because they were in a new city.

'Stop.'

The voice was almost like a bolt of lightning striking her spine. She felt her whole body convulse; every instinct that was telling her to keep running wasn't worth a damn, because her brain wasn't listening.

What the…?

The Corp agent hadn't even fired her weapon.

Shaking with pain, Garcia turned her head slightly to the left, only to see Kevin in a similar situation. On the ground, unable to escape from whatever had sent them down in the first place.

'As I was saying: by the order of the city of Lassiter under the command of the Corporation, I hereby place you under arrest for acts unbecoming to the furtherment of humankind. You will be taken into custody and interrogated; your fate will be decided by a representative of the Corporation. Any further attempts to avert the course of justice will be met with termination.'

Oh jenkies.

This was it. It was all over. All this time on the run, and the Corp had finally caught up with them. But _how_? Garcia didn't know of any manner of technology that would take a person to the ground with a single word.

She felt the tears creeping to her ducts. Everything she'd heard led to the conclusion that death was a better option than Corp imprisonment, but that wasn't exactly viable right then.

It was several moments before the feeling started to edge its way back in, by which time the Corp agent had already cuffed Garcia's hands tightly behind her back. It wasn't permanent. That was something.

'You shouldn't have run,' the woman whispered softly, and her voice sounded almost human. As though there was really a heart – a soul – behind the agent.

'You know, you could just let us go, and we'd be on our way,' suggested Kevin, his words slurred by still numb lips.

There was a moment of silence, as if the agent was almost considering his words. 'I can't do that,' she said eventually.

'And why not?'

It wasn't Kevin's voice that spoke, but Derek's. In her limited field of vision, Garcia saw the man, his weapon directed towards the Corp agent.

She felt her heart soar. It was not only the fact that Derek had chosen to come after them, but that he wasn't in league with the Corp. At least as far as she could tell, anyway.

'Derek…' The agent's voice was hesitant; for what reason, Garcia was unsure. She knew Derek, though. That was unexpected.

'Elle. You don't have to do this. You used to be one of us.'

'Yeah, Elle, listen to him,' said the voice to Garcia's left.

'Shut up, Kevin,' she hissed. This wasn't their fight.

'I'm sorry,' the agent – Elle – said, and for one fleeting second, Garcia was glad that she couldn't see what was going on behind her. What she did see was Derek dodging the bullet fired in his direction, and firing his own shot in return. She heard the sound of a body falling to the ground.

'Is she…is she dead?' Garcia asked, as Derek uncuffed her hands. The body looked dead, but with Corp agents, it was hard to tell sometimes. They were a little hardier than regular citizens, probably something to do with the rigorous training the agents went through.

'Not quite,' replied Derek, his gaze staying on the agent's unmoving body. 'She should live.'

'Who was she?' asked Kevin.

Derek didn't answer.


	11. Chapter 11

Derek Morgan found himself spooked by the appearance of his former friend. Elle Greenaway had been one of them. She had worked with them to bring down the Corp. Then, one day, she had betrayed them all, and Morgan still didn't know what had caused such a shift in her fundamental beliefs.

After the betrayal, they'd had a major upheaval; all of their old safehouses were useless, and the security of their homes questionable. The next six months had been haphazard at best, only some of their locations still safe. It was by some marvel that, though their foundations had been shaken, they still remained free. Why that had happened was as much a mystery as the reason for Elle's defection.

It had begged the question of whether she'd been forced into turning, or whether there was something bigger at play. Though they had attempted to find out, it was nigh impossible to gain entrance to the Corp database without an inside contact, or a back door of some variety.

Six months after that, he got a phone call. He'd spent the week tracking down an informant with no luck, and then someone had rung him, and given him exactly the information that he'd needed. They'd approached the situation with caution, wary of the trap that turned out to be not so inevitable. It was this contact that had helped them rebuild their organization.

And now it looked as though things were falling apart all over again.

Upon exiting the alley hurriedly, they smoothed their pace to a fast walk. Running would only draw attention. They headed south; it was less than five blocks to the nearest Glamrail station, and they could go almost anywhere from there. With any luck the street cameras wouldn't pick them up; the Corp specialized in intimidation through oppression, rather than outright omniscience.

Morgan pulled his phone from his pocket, not even bothering to look at the screen as he typed out the message. A few clicks, and commands later, the message had been sent to six hundred people. It was a safety precaution. Only twenty or so of those that received the message would actually understand its true meaning. The rest would read "Kath can't make dinner tonite – reschedule nxt Thrs?" and assume that it was a wrong number.

His phone bill was going to be ridiculous.

As long as they made it out alive, though, he'd pay the costs, providing that the account didn't get voided when the Corp decided that he was suddenly a "person of interest." It didn't make sense for them to not figure out that he was involved. The phone itself he tossed in a trash receptacle; he didn't want to be traced. There were secondary methods of contact for use in such circumstances.

'You have alternate ?' he asked, as they came within view of the Glamrail station. His I.D had been used in conjunction with theirs that morning; if they used those now, the Corp would be on them within minutes.

'Um.' The blond took the backpack from Kevin, emerging with two small plastic cards. 'Last spares,' she smiled. 'Winifred Eliot. Frank Moore.'

'Frank?' asked Kevin, somewhat distastefully. 'When do I get to be Jean-Paul again?' He put on a terrible accent that didn't sound particularly familiar to Morgan, saying, 'I like ze vay peeple look at me.'

'After that, I think it's safe to say you'll never be Jean-Paul again.' Garcia rolled her eyes at the pout on Kevin's lips, and Morgan found himself grinning, in spite of the circumstances. He found it admirable that these two had managed to stay positive on the run from the Corp. It made him think that maybe there was hope for the world after all.

The address they needed to get to was burnt into his memory; not listed in any of their computer systems. He bought three tickets from the machine on the platform; two using Garcia and Kevin's new , and one using a card that his contact had given him. The card fooled the machine into thinking that he had provided a valid identity.

They caught the train going east, the track snaking along the river, running parallel to the slums opposite. It was because of this that most of the windows were darkly tinted. Passengers wanted to forget that the slums even existed.

They got off half a dozen stops from the end of the line. There, the skyscrapers had thinned out. The buildings were mostly two to three-storey industrial and residential facilities. The tallest thing there was an EarthTech building, almost seeming out of place. Morgan found his heart racing at the sight of it; they'd tried going for EarthTech once, but had found the security too tight.

The EarthTech building, though, was not the most disconcerting thing to be seen from this side of town. To the average citizen, the most disconcerting thing was the wasteland that started at the city's boundaries. For miles upon miles, there was nothing to be seen but the dry, arid desert. A sharp contrast to the overabundance of concrete and steel that was the city itself. Experimental terraforming had been just enough to provide the city with adequate recreational facilities – north of the river, at least.

He led them to a low-set building that looked almost exactly like all the rest. It seemed a little more slummish down this end of the city, but nowhere near as bad as the actual slums. The halls were quiet, and Morgan might have thought that no-one else lived in the building. Then, they turned the corner, and he saw the young man at the end of the hallway, struggling to open his door.

It wasn't a surprise that he was having trouble; he was carrying several bags and a cage of some variety. Morgan found himself going over to help, even though he was supposed to be keeping a low profile.

'Let me give you a hand.'

He held two of the bags while the man clumsily typed in his keycode.

'Thanks,' he said, somewhat bashfully. 'I haven't seen you around before.'

'We're renting the apartment next door,' Morgan said. 'We've been on the lease for a while, but we haven't had the chance to move. We thought we'd check the place out. My name's Derek.' He held out a hand.

The young man seemed hesitant at shaking, but did so anyway. 'Spencer,' he said.


	12. Chapter 12

Spencer Reid was intrigued by his new neighbors. Their arrival had been atypical; usually, a new tenant brought furniture with them, a few boxes at the very least. Between the three of them, they’d had two bags, and nothing else. None of the apartments in the building were furnished – a consequence of the dirt cheap rent. He thought at first they were only staying to look around, but an hour passed, and there was still no sign of any worldly possessions at all. Then, when he was taking out the trash, he saw a couple walk straight to the door and knock.

The man was tall, with dark hair, and a somber expression. The woman was shorter and blonde. Her hand kept palming her abdomen. He gave them a nod as he walked past. The man gave him a glare, and he kept walking.

He wondered why they’d have visitors, if they didn’t even have furniture yet. Part of him thought they might be involved in some kind of shady business – drug dealings or the like – but Derek, Winifred and Frank, as they had introduced themselves, seemed like genuinely nice people.

He dumped the trash bag into the chute at the end of the hallway, and then returned to his tiny apartment. Houdini’s cage was sitting on the table beside his bed, displacing the half a dozen books that had been there previously. The rat looked at him with dark, beady eyes, as if to say, “Well what now?”

‘I don’t know,’ he said, slumping onto the bed. He picked up one of the books and started to read, but not even that could hold his attention for long.

He had no idea whatsoever that soon, his life would be turned around forever.

*          *          *

It was almost five p.m before Emily managed to get out of the meeting. It had continued in much the same fashion; boring reports, boring discussions stemming from these reports. By the time she managed to escape, she was just about ready to quit, screw the consequences.

Fortunately, the meetings were only once a quarter. The one-on-one meetings between Department heads and the Director were a more common occurrence, and Emily loathed them as much as anything else the Corporation had given her.

The first thing she did, once clear of any curious on-lookers, was flip her phone open. There was a single message.

_Kath can’t make dinner tonite – reschedule nxt Thrs?_

She didn’t know anyone named Kath, but she did know exactly what the message meant.

Pilgrim was compromised.

Shit.

She couldn’t contact him on that number again. It too, was probably compromised. She hoped like hell that both Derek and his associates had made it out safely. A different part of her hoped that they hadn’t managed to pinpoint her as the source, because if that happened, then they were all screwed.

It would have been pretty poor covert operation if they didn’t have a back-up plan, though. She made her way to the bathrooms again once the post-meeting crowd had died down.

Locked inside the toilet cubicle, she navigated her way to a virtual dead-drop that she’d set up, leaving him a message.

_Find a phone, call 7d4-2tkk9s at 1900. Stay safe. Montana._

Hopefully, he was still alive to get the message.

*          *          *

Just before seven, Spencer heard the knock on his door. The sound had pulled him from the short nap he’d been taking. He sat up, somewhat confused. He didn’t get visitors – the only family he had left was his mother, and she wasn’t in the position to make house calls. Not anymore.

He checked through the peephole, and saw Derek. He opened the door with a little more enthusiasm than he had before realizing who was knocking. His new neighbor had a warm smile, and Spencer couldn’t help but like him, even though they’d shared all of two sentences. He was a good guy. Spencer knew that much, even if he didn’t know why.

‘Hi,’ said Derek. ‘I was wondering…our phone-line hasn’t been connected yet – would I be able to borrow your phone. It won’t take long.’

‘Of course.’ Spencer stepped back to let the other man inside. He didn’t ask any of the questions that were plaguing his mind, like why none of them had cell phones. It just felt nice to be needed.

Derek’s eyes flittered across the apartment, but it wasn’t a judging gaze. Spencer handed him the phone from the kitchen counter, and gave a brief rundown on the intricacies of the device, before leaving to give Derek some privacy.

*          *          *

Morgan watched Spencer’s retreating figure. He was a good kid, and Morgan was reluctant to get him involved in this mess, but he’d checked the dead-drop, read Montana’s message, and realized that he had no other way of calling his contact. He didn’t want to find a pay-phone – he didn’t want to be further away from his friends than was absolutely necessary.

The mechanical voice on the other end asked him for his pass-code, to which he replied, with the clearest enunciation he could manage, ‘Tiger got to hunt, bird got to fly; Man got to sit and wonder, “why, why, why?”’

There was a brief crackling on the line, before he heard the distorted voice of Montana. ‘_What happened?’_ she asked.

‘We got jumped – Corp agent. DoS. She used to work for us. I’m not sure how much she told them, but I’d rather be safe than dead.’

‘_I’ll look into it. You have a safe location for now?_’

‘Safe enough, but we’re a little lacking in the homewares.’

‘_I’ll move some money around if you need, but I think you should consider moving back to the Slums. There’s a greater Corp presence, but it’s also a lot easier to hide._’

He frowned. There was something in her voice – as much as he could tell from the digitally distorted derivative of what was her voice.

‘There’s something else?’

She took a breath, which sounded bizarre with the electronic manipulation. ‘_Things are moving forward,_’ she said, ‘_We’ll be at a point soon where I can’t actively hide what I’m doing from the Corp_.’

His frown deepened. ‘Are you breaking off contact?’ The thought of that hurt him more on a personal level than he had imagined was possible. Montana had been as much a part of his life as any one of his other friends.

‘_No_,’ her voice crackled. ‘_I’m saying I think we should meet._’


	13. Chapter 13

They stayed the night in the small apartment; with five of them, it was somewhat overcrowded, but they managed. Garcia and Kevin shared the double bed in the main bedroom, while JJ took the single bed in the second room. Neither Morgan nor Hotch could find it in themselves to sleep – there was too much at stake. Instead, they sat hunched at the small kitchen table, going over a map of the city.

They were discussing their options; as Montana had said, if there was someone watching them, they would be safer in the slums. In addition to the fact that most citizens south of the river despised the Corp, the level of anonymity was such that without insider knowledge, finding any one person was a difficult task; residences changed ownership, buildings were frequently extended, and street addresses were next to useless if you didn’t know your way around. It wasn’t surprising that Garcia and Kevin had lasted as long as they did. It was even more surprising that he had managed to find them so easily, but then, he had Montana to thank for that.

‘We’re not going to be safe here for long,’ Hotch said, adding with a slight grimace. ‘But soon enough, I doubt anywhere will be safe. If the information they have is as important as you say, then I wouldn’t put it past the Corp to burn down the slums just to get rid of it.’

Morgan shook his head, but it wasn’t in disagreement. ‘I wonder how many people would actually care.’

‘Not everybody subscribes to their beliefs, Derek,’ Hotch reminded him. ‘There are still good people in the world. Do you think we would have made it through this alive if there weren’t? They’re just fighting the system in a different way.’

He was right, Morgan knew, but that didn’t stop him from feeling anger towards their inaction.

‘We should go to the safe house in Shore district,’ he said firmly, tapping the location on the map. ‘Blatant Corp presence is less common, plus we can try and find out what happened to Will.’ He glanced towards the second bedroom. JJ was coping well, but the entire group was painstakingly aware that whatever was happening to Will, it wasn’t pretty. If there was one thing the Corp despised, it was traitors to the cause.

Hotch nodded, and lowered his head slightly. When he spoke, his voice was an octave lower than before, as though the situation was only just becoming serious. ‘Can you trust Montana?’

‘Yes,’ he said, without even taking a second to consider the question. He paused, before adding, ‘I don’t think she sold us out.’

‘Could she have been compromised without her knowledge?’

He didn’t have an immediate answer to that question; it was a risk they were going to have to take if they wanted to win this one. ‘I trust her judgment,’ he said eventually.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, until Morgan added, ‘You know how hard it is for me to trust people, right?’

Hotch gave a slight smile of affirmation – it had taken some years of on and off contact before Morgan had made the decision to join the resistance group.

‘And what about those two?’ he asked, tilting his head towards the room in which Kevin and Garcia slept.

‘Honestly?’ replied Morgan. ‘They’re in way over their heads. But they’re both good people, and I think they’ll see this through.’ _Even if it kills them_.

‘Get some sleep,’ Hotch told him, effectively ending the conversation. ‘We need to be up early tomorrow morning.’

‘You want the couch?’ Morgan asked, knowing that Hotch would decline the offer.

He shook his head. ‘I’ll keep watch – we can’t let our guard down.’ His eyes moved to the pistol that lay on the table. With a short_ snap, _he opened the holster to put the weapon back in its rightful place.

‘Wake me up at midnight,’ Morgan said, checking his watch. ‘I can cover the rest of sentry.’ Before Hotch could argue, he added, ‘You won’t be of any use to us if you’re the walking dead, man.’

‘Fine,’ Hotch conceded. ‘I’ll wake you up at midnight, but in the meantime…I don’t want to hear anything that isn’t a snore.’


	14. Chapter 14

It was early when Morgan heard the noise. It was soft – a slight creaking on the wooden floors outside. Once upon a time he might have dismissed it as the building settling, or a neighbor leaving their apartment at some ridiculous hour. That time had long since passed.

He grabbed his gun from the counter, flicking off the safety. That small movement had evidently been enough to pull Hotch from sleep on the couch nearby.

‘Something wrong?’ the older man whispered.

Morgan said nothing, but pointed towards the door, indicating that he was going to check it out. Hotch nodded, drawing his own weapon. Two guns were better than one. They flanked the door, Morgan gripping the handle. Hotch, peering through the peephole, gave him a nod, and he simultaneously turned and pulled.

There were two of them – both dressed in black, and both heavily armed – but neither Hotch nor Morgan were amateurs. Morgan found himself tackling the first man to the ground, leaving the second to Hotch. There was a brief but ugly struggle, with an equal number of blows from both sides. He _had_ wanted to get through this without firing his weapon, but he also knew that if he didn’t get proactive, then it would go from an ugly fight to a downright brutal one.

A gunshot echoed in the confined hallway, but he felt no pain. There was the briefest moment of panic, as he realized that it could have been Hotch that took the bullet, but then he felt the warm, sticky blood flowing from the dead weight that was lying on top of him. A second shot fired, and he became aware of Hotch, standing over the body of the second man. The other man’s white shirt was stained red from the multiple wounds that seemed to have been inflicted.

‘We need to move, now,’ said Hotch, pushing the apartment door open. Neither man reholstered their weapon – if there were two, there could have be more.

No sooner than they’d stepped inside, Garcia and Kevin had burst into the living area, followed by JJ from the other bedroom.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Garcia, overcome with a thorough case of bedhead.

‘We need to move, now,’ Morgan said. She was gaping at him – at the blood that he was covered in, he realized.

‘Is that…did you…?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said bluntly. ‘But we need to go, _now_. Grab your stuff.’

She nodded, and was off in a flash, Kevin as well. He had to hand it to them, they were quick in a crisis. Once they’d ascertained the nature of the situation, it had taken them less than a minute to comply.

Satisfied that they were good to go, Morgan jerked open the door of the apartment, only to come face to face with Spencer Reid. The young man was staring at the bodies on the hallway floor, shock marring his otherwise innocent features.

‘They tried to kill us,’ Morgan said bluntly, though he didn’t know why he was explaining himself to a complete stranger. _Well,_he reasoned, _not a complete stranger._ He’d had a couple of interactions with their temporary neighbor, but not nearly enough to label the man a friend, or even an acquaintance.

‘If there are others, then they’ll be on their way,’ Hotch said, not even reacting at the sight of Spencer.

‘There’s a service entrance,’ the young man said, to Morgan’s surprise. ‘No-one’s used it in years. I, uh…I go down there to ah…to feed a stray cat sometimes. It goes out onto the backstreets.’

‘We can avoid the Corp altogether if they don’t have anyone at the service entrance,’ Morgan told Hotch. ‘We can double back around to the Eastern Tunnels.’ Before Hotch could argue, he added. ‘Look, we’re covered in blood, our names will be on ever wanted poster from here to the bay. Even with a bridge pass, there’s no way we’re getting over to the slums by any legal means.’

‘I know,’ Hotch conceded. He stole a glance behind him – at JJ, Morgan knew immediately. Hotch was going to do everything in his power to help reunite that family. Morgan was with him every step of the way.

‘Follow me,’ Spencer said, with some determination. Morgan was a little intrigued by the sudden display of dominance, but didn’t have time to question it. There was the possibility that the man was leading them into a trap, but he didn’t seem like the kind.

‘We can’t drag you into this,’ Morgan argued.

‘The door is hidden, you won’t find it without being shown. Come on,’ Spencer reiterated, starting off down the hall. It could have been a trap. Morgan really hoped that it wasn’t a trap – Spencer was a good kid. He really didn’t want to have to kill him.


	15. Chapter 15

Emily woke to the sound of an alarm. It was far too loud, and far too early for it to be her work alarm, but then, she was of the opinion that no alarm was ever, ever a good thing. Laying still in her bed, she uttered a few choice words, the sort of which her mother would send her to the cleaners, should the Deputy Director ever hear.

After a few seconds, she leaned over to the nightstand to shut the alarm off. Without even looking, she knew that it really wasn’t good news.

_Safehouse infiltrated._

Yep.

Really, really not good news.

The message wasn’t from Pilgrim – it was an automated system that she’d set up herself. Pilgrim was in the wind now. She didn’t blame him. It was evident that the resistance had been infiltrated in some many, though how – and by whom – she wasn’t sure. If there weren’t Corp agents knocking down her own door, then the infiltration couldn’t have been too deep.

What she needed to do was find the source.

What she needed to do was find Pilgrim.

She swung out of bed, heading straight to the closet. Pilgrim would be heading for the slums, and she needed to dress accordingly. He was expecting to see a Corp agent, but she was pretty sure that the rest of the slums wouldn’t be so happy to see her.

She slipped on jeans and a white t-shirt, followed by a leather jacket that she’d picked up somewhere as a teenager. She could just as easily pass for a citizen of the slums as she could someone north of the river. The heavy boots and the weapon strapped to her hip completed the look.

Nothing mattered any more – the Corp, her mother. The façade was broken. No longer was she the spy. Now, she was the enforcer.

It was the point of no return.

She pulled the backpack from her closet, slinging it over her shoulder. She’d been waiting for this day a long time.

She checked her watch – it was a little after 3a.m. She didn’t particularly want to be heading to the slums at this hour alone.

There was something else she needed to do first.

* * *

She looked around the building a little apprehensively. It wasn’t exactly the kind of residence she expected for the former Director of the Corp. She’d expected something a little…flashier.

Of course, the circumstances surrounding his departure from the job were a little suspect, so she could believe that he didn’t want to be found. It had taken a lot of effort to get the address after all. She’d been saving it for an emergency, and she was pretty sure this qualified. He was the only other person she knew of that had managed to stay off the Corp’s radar. At least, as far as she was aware.

She pressed the button for Apartment 4D, the label underneath reading “Roger Winchester.” A pseudonym if she ever saw one.

The door opened with a short buzz, which immediately aroused her suspicion. She’d expected at the very least to be yelled at for coming before dawn. She kept her hand at her holster as she went up the stairs to the fourth floor.

Her knuckles rapped tentatively on the door to 4D, the fingers of her other hand now wrapped around the butt of her gun. She relaxed the slightest bit when the door opened, and the man standing there was exactly the person she needed to see. He was in his fifties with salt and pepper hair, and a goatee. He was in a dark red robe, and had a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

‘You’re not the girl the service usually sends over,’ he said, his voice the slightest bit slurred. She raised an eyebrow. The man was putting on an act, and they both knew it.

‘Cut the crap, Rossi. You know why I’m here.’

He flashed her a grin. ‘It’s been a long time, Emily. Get your ass inside before someone sees you.’

She ducked in, and he pulled the door shut behind her.

‘You knew I was coming,’ she accused.

He gave her a slight shrug, but didn’t deny it. ‘You’d be surprised how many people I have that are still loyal. You’re not as covert as you think you are.’ He went to a nearby cabinet, pulling out two bottles, one of a red liquid, the other the same amber that was in his own glass. ‘You want wine or whiskey?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s three in the morning.’

‘Wine then,’ he shrugged, putting back the whiskey and replacing it with a thin-stemmed wine glass. She watched the dark red liquid slosh against the glass. ‘You’re looking good,’ he said conversationally. ‘Of course, I haven’t seen you in twenty years, but from what my sources tell me, you’ve got much better ethics than your mother does.’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ she said, sniffing the wine with some hesitation. She didn’t expect him to be trying to kill her, but then, she couldn’t be too careful. Whatever danger she might have been in, though, it was worth the risk.

‘I know.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but he raised his glass, saying, ‘Sources, remember?’

‘People don’t think it’s strange that the former Director is trying to run things from behind the scenes?’ she asked him.

He gave a short laugh. ‘I doubt anyone remembers a time before that harpy bitch ex-wife of mine. I did all the hard work, but do you think they care? Not a fucking chance. They’re all too busy kissing the ass of the woman that’s responsible for oppressing the entire city.’

‘It’s not just her though, is it? She’s just a front.’

He shook his head slowly, but it was in no way a denial of her question. ‘It goes much…much deeper than anyone realizes.’

‘And that’s what’s in the files?’

He didn’t need to ask what files she was talking about – those sources again, she gathered. ‘That’s what’s in the files.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Well in that case,’ she said. ‘I think I’m going to need your help.’


	16. Chapter 16

Rossi insisted that she stay for breakfast before leaving, an offer that she was reluctant to accept until he pointed out that it was still before sunrise; trying to head over to the slums at this time of day was about as suicidal as handing herself over to the Corp and admitting to all of her indiscretions.

And in any case, this was probably the last chance she’d have to indulge in a proper, sit down meal. Her last supper, as it were. Whatever happened, there was no going back.

You can’t go home again.

She took some small amount of solace in the fact that David Rossi was apparently a fantastic cook; not even the Corp had taken away his ability to make the best omelet she’d ever tasted.

‘I think we should split up,’ he told her, and she almost choked on the mixture of egg, cheese and mushroom in an attempt to swallow it all before speaking.

‘What? I thought you said you’d help me.’

He gave a short laugh. ‘Of course I’ll help – but if they find us together, then nothing will save your ass. At least if you’re alone, you’ve got plausible deniability.’

‘Well, as long as we can still be friends,’ she retorted bitingly. ‘Seriously, Rossi – I’m going over there to meet up with at least three wanted fugitives. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk my way out of this one, even if my mother’s the Deputy Director. My head’s on the chopping block just as much as everyone else’s – moreso, if they’re looking to make an example.’

‘All the more reason to stay apart,’ he said. ‘It’s not just your ass on the line, kid. You don’t think they’ll get just the slightest bit suspicious if they see you with the former Director? I’m sure Erin would just love to torture the reason out of both of us. You find the hackers, and then we’ll talk about cracking the file.’

‘Right,’ she nodded, finishing off the last few bites of her breakfast. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, and she’d have to leave soon if she wanted to avoid the early morning traffic. It’d be bumper to bumper getting to the bridge, even on the sidewalks. She was, of course, hoping that her security clearance had not yet been rescinded. The anonymity that going underneath the river via the Eastern Tunnels afforded her wasn’t worth the danger. Similarly, fake I.D.s were worthless – all of the DoT staff knew her by sight. In any case, she was fairly sure that the Corp would have no doubt of her relocation to the other side of the river. She just had to trick them into thinking that she was staying there.

‘Do you have a secure number I can contact you on?’ she asked him, as she slung her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave. ‘If I’m being followed, I don’t want to lead anyone here.’

He scribbled the number down on a piece of paper, and then passed it, and a lighter towards her. ‘Memorize and burn. If you get caught, and they torture it out of you, we’ve never met. Clear?’

‘You’re very big on this whole “torture” thing, aren’t you?’ Emily asked, a slight smirk on her face.

Rossi didn’t smile. ‘Trust me,’ he said, pocketing the number that she had given him in return. ‘You wouldn’t believe the depths of depravity that the Corporation goes to. And you _really_ don’t want to find out.’

She was barely two blocks from Rossi’s place when she heard the buzzing of the phone in her pocket. It was a message:

_They’re onto you. Take the ET._

The sender was anonymous, but she assumed it was Rossi himself – how he’d managed to find out, she didn’t know, but at the same time, she wasn’t about to argue. The Tunnels weren’t exactly safe, but they were a lot safer than the Corp. It heartened her a little to know that Pilgrim had probably taken the tunnels after the safe house had been compromised, and with any luck he’d cleared out some of the riff-raff.

The Eastern Tunnels had once been sewers, back when the world had been something approaching a safe place to live. They served as a hub of squalor and violence now, incomparable to that found even in the slums. Those who ventured down there usually had no other option. It was very easy to end up lost or dead.

‘You want a guide?’ asked a voice from the shadows, as she stood contemplating the cover of the manhole. ‘I can get you over to the sewers, and anywhere you want to go from there. Two hundred marks.’

Emily gave a wry smirk – to herself more than to the person in the shadows. Some people made a living off leading people into the labyrinth of tunnels, and then demanding extra payment to get them out. Con artists. Grifters. Tunnel-runners. An omnipresent force the whole city wide.

Still.

She didn’t exactly make a living out of walking through the sewers. Her entire career revolved – _had_ revolved – around providing alternative methods. That’s all she really wanted from the Corp. Alternatives.

‘Fifty,’ she countered. ‘Twenty-five here and twenty-five when we get across. You even think about double-crossing me, and I’ll disembowel you, and string you up by your intestines.’ It wasn’t a threat she was going to follow-through on, but it was usually the only way of getting through to some people.

The voice hissed, stepping into the light of the still-rising sun. He was about her height, with light brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Not the kind of person one would expect to be walking through sewers, but then, Tunnel-runners had to fit in on both side of the river. ‘Kinky,’ he whispered. ‘Maybe afterwards you’ll let me tie you up-’

She shoved the barrel of her pistol into his stomach, and he gave a soft, ‘Oof!’

‘Get moving,’ she told him, her free hand slipping into her pocket. She slapped the proffered twenty-five marks into the Tunnel-runner’s open hand.

She held the gun steady as he tipped her a wink, sliding the man-hole open and climbing down. With some awkward moments, she managed to descend the ladder herself while still keeping an eye on the Tunnel-runner.

She grimaced slightly as her boots squelched into the muck at the bottom of the tunnel. She didn’t take her eyes off the ‘runner as she searched inside her pack for a flashlight.

Her companion laughed.

With a look of annoyance, she asked, ‘What’s your name? I don’t want to call you “rat-bag” for the next hour.’

‘You can call me “Viper,”’ he offered, and she gave a disbelieving laugh. It was too much to ask for anyone to give a “real” name these days. It was a fitting name, though. He was definitely a snake, and that much alone told her that she needed to watch out.

They saw a few people along the path that he took her; most were either incapable of movement, or backed down the moment they saw the gun in her hand. Sometimes it just wasn’t worth the risk.

It was half an hour later when she realized how big of a mess she’d walked into.

They weren’t sewer-dwellers – the impeccable suits were enough to tell her that they were Corp. Five of them – four men, and a woman, all with guns pointed straight at her chest.

Shit.

She kept her own gun level, barrel pointed at the man standing at the front of the group. She didn’t recognize him, but then, the Department of Security usually kept themselves to themselves.

‘It’s over, Agent Prentiss,’ he said, his voice level. ‘Drop the gun, and nobody gets hurt.’

She couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Seriously? Nobody gets hurt? That is the biggest fucking lie I’ve ever heard. The Corp does nothing _but_ hurt people.’

The man adjusted his collar. ‘Trust me, I’d love to do nothing more than kill the traitor who turned against the Corp, but unfortunately, my orders preclude such actions. No matter – your “friends” in high places won’t save you for long.’

It wasn’t until she felt the gun at her back that she knew it really _was_ over. Son of a bitch.

‘Sorry,’ Viper said in that oily voice of his. ‘It’s not personal. You were offering fifty. They were offering ten thousand.’

The butt of his gun struck the back of her head, and as she fell, it was absolutely no consolation that it had been a trap from the start.


	17. Chapter 17

Morgan paced the length of the small apartment. The sun was just rising when they’d made it through the Eastern Tunnels; it had been a while since he’d been down there, and they were forced to back-track several times, but all in all, it could have gone a lot worse. The fact that there were six of them in the group meant that any adversaries lurking in the shadows were less inclined to attack.

Morgan was fairly sure he would have shot anyone that did try. He was in no mood for people trying to screw around with him. The Corp had to have found their location _somehow_. Still – keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. If any one of the group was a traitor, then he preferred to keep them within the circle of knowledge so to speak, if only to feed them false information. First, though, he had to find out who, if any of them, had been the betrayer.

JJ and Hotch he’d known for a long time – he wasn’t inclined to believe that either of them could be a spy, but then, he’d trusted Elle too. If either Garcia or Kevin were the spy, then surely one of them would have made a move, intercepting the data before it got into the hands of the resistance – unless, of course, the plan was to bring _down_ the resistance. If Spencer was a Corp agent, then he’d have to be psychic, because there was no way he could have known they were going to be at that particular safehouse.

Montana was another possibility – probably one of the more logical ones – but he wasn’t quite ready to throw her to the wind yet either. For that moment, the only person he could fully trust was himself.

And he wasn’t even really sure about that part either.

He looked at his phone worryingly. Upon reaching the slums, the phone had been the first thing he’d picked up – the thing had been stashed at a dead-drop, a back-up number in case the primary contact method was lost to them. The second thing they’d picked up was food, because, thanks to their middle of the night awakenings and walk through the sewers, they were all starving.

They were at an old apartment of Kevin’s – one he assured them would be safe. Unsurprising – it was pretty bad, even for a place this side of the river. The rats were the size of small dogs, and none of the doors locked. Still. Better than wandering the streets.

He kicked out at a rat that was trying to steal his breakfast – he would have much rather shot it, but now they were on the run, bullets were a rare commodity. It wasn’t as though black market trading was uncommon in the slums – it was dangerous though, and would attract more attention than they could afford.

More than anything, he wanted this to be over with.

He wanted to win the fight that he’d been fighting his whole life; the fight against the Corp. It seemed so close, and yet, so far away.

The loud beep from the phone scared the crap out of him.

Morgan was pretty sure that everyone else jumped at it too; they were all on edge after all. He only saw their reactions at the periphery of his vision, though, his attention focused on flipping the phone open and reading the message before he dropped the damn thing.

_Floyd and Oldfield. 1 hour._

He frowned. The message was a little more blatant than he was used to, but things were coming to a head, and he figured that whatever Montana was doing, it was chaotic enough without having to worry about cryptic messages.

He strapped his gun to his hip.

‘I think you should take Garcia and Spencer with you,’ Hotch said in a low voice, and Morgan raised an eyebrow in question.

‘Why?’

‘If someone attacks here while you’re gone, I can’t protect all of them.’ He stole a quick glance in JJ’s direction. ‘And I’d prefer if JJ stayed here.’

Morgan nodded, but he wasn’t entirely sure. ‘If it’s an ambush…’ He sighed. It was a lose-lose situation – if someone had been following them, they could show up at the apartment, but if Montana had been compromised, then the danger could well have been at the rendezvous.

‘Okay,’ he relented, finally, thinking that at the very least, he could arm the two, for intimidation purposes, if nothing else.

‘Alright,’ he said, turning to Garcia and Spencer. ‘You two are coming with me.’

*          *          *

Elle Greenaway watched as her fellow agent kicked the unconscious woman in the stomach. Emily Prentiss was a higher-up – a department head, no less, which proved that pretty much anyone could fall victim to the throes of the dark side.

That’s what the videos said, anyway.

By the time they’d put the third disc in the player, she’d no longer resisted against the cuffs that held her to the chair. If you can’t beat them, join them.

Or, as it had been in her case, if you can’t beat them, get kidnapped and then tortured into working for them. And as soon as they think you’re trustworthy, get recruited for an experimental medical procedure.

And _then_ beat them.

‘So what about my fifty-thousand?’ the Tunnel-runner, Viper asked. Elle turned her head slightly as the shot fired, and his body fell to the ground.

Because the moment they think they’re unbeatable, infallible, they’re weak. Beat them at their own game. Kick them while they’re trying to kick someone else. Literally and metaphorically, she realized, as one of her colleagues laid yet another kick into the unconscious Agent. Their orders hadn’t been particularly specific beyond “alive” – the woman’s mother was the Deputy Director, which meant that someone probably had some creative punishment in mind to make an example, to show that not even family was above the Corp. It was either that, or spiriting her away without further mention. Denying that she’d ever even existed. Not a single blot on their record.

Whatever the decision, it wasn’t something she was about to let happen. She’d been too late to stop them from taking the unconscious Agent’s phone and sending a message through to the contact whom she knew to be Derek Morgan. She’d regretted the need to take down the two hackers, but they were watching her closely then, and that was before she’d known about the files.

She wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

There was no going back.

‘Stop.’ She felt the power flowing through her – the powers bestowed upon her by the Corp. Not as good as the ones some people had, but it was enough to get Agent Prentiss out of this alive.

The agent’s boot froze mid-stride. The only part of him – the only part of any of her colleagues – that was still moving was the eyes. They went quickly from confusion to anger.

She pulled Prentiss up, half dragging, half carrying the woman towards the daylight.

It wasn’t over yet.


	18. Chapter 18

Emily Prentiss woke up to a headache, and an intense feeling of fuzziness. It wasn’t exactly the most common occurrence – she’d had her fair share of concussions and hangovers (and on one memorable occasion, a concussion _and_ a hangover) but this one felt so much worse. Maybe because it was accompanied by the bitter sting of failure.

But wait.

She’d been ambushed in the tunnel, a labyrinth of darkness. There shouldn’t have been any light. Had she been unconscious longer than she’d thought? Had they taken her away to some secret facility and locked her in an interrogation room, the harsh fluorescents flickering.

No.

 Not that, either.

It was sunlight.

She opened her eyes experimentally, letting the light in bit by bit. Definitely sunlight. Sunlight in the slums, too, judging by the height of the buildings. Why would they want her on this side of the river, of all places?

‘…hit you pretty hard,’ a voice seemed to be saying. ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to wake up.’

Though she’d never strictly been on the wrong side of a Corp interrogation, this definitely didn’t seem like one. The voice sounded almost concerned, for one thing. She tried to sit up, which, apparently, wasn’t the best of ideas – her ribs hurt as much as her head did.

She groaned.

‘What happened?’ she asked with a groan, not entirely sure that the words had actually come out the way she’d intended them to.

‘They won’t be out for long,’ is the answer she got, even if it only really answered part of what she really wanted to know. ‘You need to hurry.’

‘What?’ She attempted to sit up again, grimacing through the rib pain. Her vision was clearing, and she took in the appearance of her mysterious savior. Female, early thirties, brown hair. There was a brief flash of recognition – the female Corp agent from the ambush. Why the hell was she helping, then?

‘You’re Corp?’

‘Not by choice,’ the woman said, in a voice that suggested there was much more to the story. ‘They took your phone to set up a fake meet. I couldn’t stop them.’

A fake meet?

Pilgrim.

‘Oh, shit,’ she muttered. This was definitely not good. Pilgrim and the hackers would be playing right into the Corp’s hand. Everything they’d worked for would be lost, all because she’d been too fucking trusting. Talk about a fuck-up. Even as they tortured her, the Corp would be laughing at her failure. 

She scrambled to her feet, against every single screaming message that her body was trying to send. ‘I have to stop it.’

There was no argument from the other Corp agent – if anything, she looked almost encouraging of Emily’s plan, however unformed. ‘I can’t go with you.’

Emily stared – this time, the voice was almost regretful, even though Emily had made no inquiry as to her intentions. Definitely something going on there, even if it wasn’t malicious.

‘Tell Derek I’m sorry,’ she said, handing Emily a slip of paper, and a weapon in quick succession.

Emily blinked.

Who the hell was _Derek?_

*          *          *

Morgan kept his eyes moving, not quite trusting the weapons experience of his two companions. Of course, it wasn’t just that – he was used to relying on his own judgment, rather than anyone else’s.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man – tallish, dark hair, dark eyes. His clothes were disheveled, and he looked as though he hadn’t had a shower in days, but there was something about him that just screamed “civilized” – in a manner of speaking. He was most definitely from the other side of the river. Corp, probably. Montana.

Still, it wasn’t what Morgan had been expecting.

‘Pilgrim?’ the man asked, and Morgan raised an eyebrow. Definitely a little suspicious.

He nodded, though; the best way to get through this was to play along. ‘Montana?’ The question was answered in the affirmative, and Morgan gave a slight laugh. ‘I thought you were a chick.’

‘All part of the cover,’ was the smooth reply. A little too smooth. ‘We need to get out of here. If the Corp finds us, we’re dead. Do you have the chip?’

‘Things die,’ Morgan shrugged, eyes not leaving the Corp agent. ‘All things die.’

‘I didn’t realize freedom fighters were so philosophical.’

‘Yeah, well…So it goes,’ Morgan said. No reaction. Whoever this was, it wasn’t Montana. It was a Corp imposter, which meant that Montana had been compromised – if she had ever really existed at all. She could have been nothing more than a ruse designed to take down the resistance from the inside. But then, she could have done so a lot earlier if that were the case.

There was a moment of pained silence; Morgan knew that this man was a fake, and he was fairly sure that the man knew that he knew. They both drew their gun in the same split second. Garcia and Spencer both looked shocked, as if they hadn’t quite realized what had transpired.

‘It’s over, Morgan,’ the fake Montana said, his voice dropping any façade of familiarity. ‘Give us the files, and we’ll make sure you only get a few years of torture. You’ll come out a better man.’

A _Corp_ man, were the unspoken words. Brainwashing. He’d rather die than subject himself to that.

‘We don’t have the files,’ he said evenly, not letting his eyes turn back towards Garcia. ‘We passed them on to a hacker. He’ll have them broken within a day, and every single bit of data that’s in those files will become public knowledge.’

‘You’re lying,’ the fake smirked. ‘You wouldn’t need Montana if you’d found someone to crack the files.’ He looked contemplatively towards Spencer. ‘You know, I think you might be a little more forthcoming if we capped the kid in the knees.’

Morgan heard the crack of a gunshot, and his heart almost stopped, before he realized that the fake hadn’t even made a move yet. It was another half second before he noticed the pool of red spreading across the man’s chest. He collapsed to the ground with a dramatic thump.

The shot had come from behind them. Weapon still grasped tightly in his hand, he swiveled to face the shooter, unsure if it was a friend or foe. Sometimes, it was still hard to tell.

One thing was for sure – she looked like crap. Clothes stained with what looked like sewerage, one hand was held against her stomach, as the other clutched the gun, which was shaking slightly. Blood dripped from a wound under the hairline.

‘Pilgrim?’ she asked, and it was almost a wheeze. He didn’t say anything, still unsure. This could have been the Corp’s back-up plan. Have someone come in and save them in order to further cement any trust. The next words she spoke, though, changed the situation entirely.

‘Hi ho.’

And with that, she fell to her knees and passed out entirely.


	19. Chapter 19

Morgan stared at the unconscious woman for several seconds. He couldn’t quite believe that it was true. After so long, he had finally found the Corp Agent that had been feeding him intelligence. The blood was trickling down the side of her head, and her clothes were dirty and torn. The only thing that seemed undamaged was the backpack on her shoulder,

Not quite what he expected. For one thing, he imagined she’d be awake.

‘We should move out,’ Garcia said, eyes darting around, as though just waiting for the ball to drop. ‘If they sent him to lead us into a trap, then there’s no way there aren’t more Corp agents waiting to take us out.’

Morgan frowned, unsure of what to do. He was the only one that could carry the unconscious woman, but he couldn’t do that and keep them defended at the same time.

‘Wait,’ said Spencer, frowning. ‘Wait. Look at her face – does she look familiar to you?’

Morgan squinted, trying to see past the darkening bruises. Spencer was right – he’d seen this face before, he just wasn’t quite sure where.

‘Press conferences,’ Spencer said eventually, and then everything clicked. Morgan remembered the dark-haired woman announcing changes to Glamrail. He remembered the name flashing at the bottom of the screen.

‘Prentiss,’ he murmured.

‘Wait,’ said Garcia. ‘_Prentiss_? As in Deputy Director “I’m going to kidnap your children while they sleep and eat them for breakfast” Prentiss?’

Morgan shook his head. ‘We can’t just leave her here – she saved our lives.’

‘I know,’ Garcia said, exasperated. ‘It’s just…’

‘No matter what happens, we aren’t going to stop watching our backs, Garcia,’ he said.

She didn’t seem entirely pleased with the answer, but then, there wasn’t that much time to argue. They needed to get out of the area, fast.

He knelt down beside the woman – Prentiss. No. Montana. She’d always be Montana to him – and picked up her gun, offering it to Garcia and Spencer in turn. Garcia took a step back, shaking her head.

‘I don’t do guns.’

Spencer took the weapon, his hands shaking slightly. Morgan would much have preferred some other way, but he was out of options. If he put her in a fireman hold, he’d have one hand free to shoot if he needed to. If the shooting did start, he might have to drop her pretty quickly. He passed Prentiss’ pack over to Garcia – he didn’t want to go searching through her stuff, even if they could have used it.

Garcia knew the slums best, so she led the way, taking them the long way round, with  numerous detours and double backs. If anyone was tracking them somehow, they were going to have a hell of a time. Getting there from the hideout had taken a little more than twenty minutes. Getting back they were heading into the second hour.

They were holding out in the basement of a derelict apartment building when Montana woke up. She put a hand to her head, fingers coming away red – they hadn’t quite had the chance, or the materials, to clean her up.

She blinked several times, evidently confused. ‘I…Where am I?’ she managed to choke out. Not waiting for an answer, she reached to her shoulder for the backpack that wasn’t there. The moment she realized this, she sat up fast, or at she tried to. Hands clutching at her ribs, she fell back down to the floor. ‘Water – there’s a…’

Garcia opened the bag quickly, pulling out the bottle and passing it over to Morgan. ‘Sit up slowly,’ he said, trying to make his voice as calming as possible. ‘I think you bruised some ribs.’

‘I didn’t bruise them,’ she managed, taking slow sips of the water. ‘Somebody else’s foot bruised them.’ She looked around, a little less confused, and then asked again, ‘Where am I?’

Morgan wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. ‘On our way to a safe place,’ he said eventually. His brow furrowed. ‘Do you know who I am?’

‘You’re…I…Shit.’ She put a hand to her head, eyes closed tight, and teeth worrying her lips. ‘Yes. No. I should, but I…I don’t know what’s wrong.’

‘Pilgrim,’ he said, and her eyes widened. ‘Do you know that name?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Pilgrim. Pilgrim. Derek.’ Her hand went to her pocket, and she pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘She said she was sorry. I don’t…’ She handed him the paper, clearly unsure of what she was doing.

_Things are not what they seem_.

He turned the paper over, turned it upside down, damn near turned it inside out looking for something other than those six words. He recognized that handwriting. That was Elle’s handwriting.

‘Who gave you this?’ he demanded, with a little more hostility than he’d intended.

Prentiss – Montana – shook her head, unperturbed by his aggression. ‘She never told me her name. But…she saved my life. I think. Dark hair, early thirties. Corp, but…not by birth. Conditioned.’

‘Son of a bitch,’ Morgan said, scrunching the note into a ball. How could he have fucked things up so much: Elle hadn’t turned on them, she’d been _captured_. And he was too thick to have noticed.

‘What’s wrong?’ Garcia asked, and he wasn’t quite sure it was something that could be explained in the short amount of time that they had. They needed to get back to Hotch, JJ and Kevin.

Things had just gotten that much more complicated.

‘Not now,’ he told her, and turned his attention back towards Prentiss. ‘Do you have a first aid kit in that bag of yours?’

‘Front pocket,’ she told him. ‘The grey case…Yeah, that one.’ He used the kit to clean the wound on her head. There wasn’t enough time to stitch it up – they’d do that when they got back to the safehouse. Instead, he pressed a piece of gauze over it, hoping that it would suffice for the time being.

‘Come on then, Prentiss.’ He held out a hand to help her off the ground, but she just stared at it for a few seconds.

‘Emily,’ she told him, standing without his help. ‘Prentiss is…not me.’

‘So you’re not denying that she’s your mother?’

Emily scoffed. ‘It’s not like I _can_ deny it. It’s not a secret.’ She brushed her hair back with a hand, staring at the white bandage in a cracked mirror that hung on the wall. ‘It’s an accident of birth.’ She accepted the backpack from Garcia, but told Reid to keep the gun, which Morgan raised an eyebrow at, before realizing that her eyes were still a little unfocused, and her skin was pale, and he could see the thin lines of sweat starting to form on her brow.

They weren’t out of the woods yet.

‘Can you walk?’ he asked, certain he already knew what the answer was going to be.

‘Yes. I’ve had way worse than a couple of busted ribs.’ The statement called for elaboration, but there wasn’t any, and it wasn’t the time or the place to ask, so they got moving.

‘There’s no-one following,’ Emily assured them, after they doubled back and around a street block.

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded. ‘They would have taken you out by now to get the chip – it’s far more important than finding other members of the resistance.’

Morgan frowned at that. He didn’t know exactly what was on the chip, but if it was that bad, then they could really do some damage to the Corp.

‘And if we didn’t have it…?’ he started. He knew the answer to that question, too. This was just confirmation.

‘Then they’d torture you to find out where it was.’

Morgan gave a bitter laugh. That was the Corp for you.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, the most exciting thing that happened was Spencer tripping over a grate and almost shooting himself in the foot. A rag-tag group of rebels, they dragged themselves up to the apartment safehouse. Morgan knocked on the door three times, then waited before knocking twice. The door swung open, and Hotch gave him a grim smile.

‘You took your sweet time,’ he said.

‘We had some problems,’ Morgan admitted. Hotch let his eyes run over the group, pausing the longest on the newcomer. Emily held his gaze.

‘Looks like. You want to come inside and tell me what the hell happened?’

Morgan gave the man a tired grin. ‘Coffee first – then storytime.’

He stepped past Hotch into the apartment. JJ and Kevin were playing cards at the small wooden table. In spite of himself, the sight made his heart warm.

They’d only been gone a few hours, but damn, it was good to be back.


	20. Chapter 20

JJ passed out the chipped mugs of coffee – black, because there was no milk anywhere in the place, and the sugar was weevil infested.

‘That’s just extra protein,’ joked Kevin, but no-one was really in a laughing mood. They were all tired, and hungry, and confused, but there was no end in sight. They just had to keep on fighting.

There was canned food, most of it about as appetizing as killing and cooking one of the half dozen rats they’d scared out of the apartment, but they all needed to keep their strength up.

There were a few minutes of silence, as they all let the situation wash over them, though Morgan didn’t need words to know what they were all thinking. He’d been in the business long enough to be able to read body language pretty well.

Hotch was stoic, but Morgan had learned long ago not to confuse that with emotionless. Kevin and Garcia were both cautiously cheerful – they’d been living this kind of life for much longer than everyone else. JJ and Spencer were both a little on edge; by contrast, they were new to the whole “being on the run” business. JJ had worked with the resistance, but it was only recently that she had become a _part_ of the resistance. Emily had positioned herself away from the rest of the group, her eyes cast downwards, as though she was afraid of being judged by them.

‘Hey, Montana,’ Morgan said. ‘Your bandage is leaking.’

She brushed a hand across the head wound, grimacing slightly. ‘I guess it does need stitches.’ She set her untouched coffee on the small table, and pulled the first aid kit out of her backpack once more. Her hands were shaking.

‘Are you alright?’ Morgan frowned. Her skin was starting to look clammy, and he thought he saw a slight shiver ripple through her. She nodded, and then shook her head.

‘I don’t know.’ She gave a violent lurch suddenly, knocking the bag and the first aid kit aside. Morgan managed to catch her before she fell to the floor, but couldn’t do a damn thing about the vomiting.

‘Someone get me a bucket, or something,’ he called out, unsure if they would find anything in a place like this. It was designed for hiding, not for long-term living. Garcia did managed to find a bucket, passing it over to him, but by that point, Emily was mostly dry retching.

‘Is this because of the concussion?’ he asked, not really caring who answered.

‘Symptoms of a concussion include dizziness, nausea, lack of motor co-ordination, difficulty balancing, light sensitivity, blurred vision and tinnitus,’ Spencer provided, sounding almost like an encyclopedia. ‘The only way to treat it is with rest.’

Morgan gave Hotch a look. ‘I think we all need a rest.’ He let his hand rub across Emily’s back, unconsciously. ‘We won’t be able to do anything if we’re running dead on our feet.’

Hotch nodded in agreement. ‘I don’t know how safe we are here, but I think it’s pretty well established that we’re not safe anywhere.’

There were two decent sized beds in the place, with a selection of lumpy pillows and thinning blankets in the closet. and Kevin started getting the beds ready, while Hotch checked the perimeter and JJ went off in search of something to clean up the mess on the floor – the smell was bad enough without adding vomit to the mix.

Bottle of water in her hand, Emily kept still as Morgan cleaned her head wound once more, her teeth catching against her lip.

‘So…’ he said, conversationally. ‘You grow up in north of the river, your mother’s a Corp hotshot. Why risk everything to help me?’

Emily bit back a laugh, the sound turning into a groan at the exertion on her ribs. ‘Because when you grow up in the care of a “Corp hotshot” you see a lot of things that most other people don’t see. They’re happy to go on ignoring things because it’s not their problem. That’s true both sides of the river. Some things you just can’t ignore.’ She gave a wan smile at that, and Morgan figured that her assessment did pretty well at describing everybody’s situation.

Grabbing a pair of sweatpants from her bag, Emily excused herself to the small, dingy bathroom, leaving Morgan alone in the living area. Not for long though.

‘Hey,’ Garcia greeted him. ‘Hotch says he’s going to take first watch, so you get to bed with Spencer and Kevin. Sorry if that hurts your macho man reputation.’

‘I’ve suffered through worse,’ he replied.

‘You and Montana, is that…’ she started, and Morgan frowned as he realized what she was asking.

‘Montana is someone that helped the resistance out a lot,’ he told her. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be personal, but I guess you could say we kind of built up a friendship. I don’t think this is the time for any of us to be getting involved in complicated relationships. There’s too much at stake.’

Garcia didn’t seem wholly satisfied at the answer, but if she had any nagging doubts, she didn’t bring them up.

Morgan stepped outside into the hallway, finding Hotch scanning with both his eyes and his gun. ‘No obvious security threats,’ he said. ‘But then, this is the slums.’ There was a moment of silence, before Hotch asked. ‘So what happened at the meet?’

‘They had a fake show up. He was about to start shooting when Emily shot _him_. They caught her and tried to ambush us, but she got away.’

Hotch didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘That could have been orchestrated to gain your trust.’

‘I know,’ Morgan conceded. ‘I’m not saying I trust her. But…Elle helped her escape.’

The other man straightened at that revelation.

‘I think…I think we might have been a little over reactive about her defection. I think they might have brainwashed her.’

‘It’s a big leap to make,’ argued Hotch.

‘I’m not saying we should drop everything and welcome her back with open arms. I’m saying there’s a lot going on that we don’t even know the beginning of.’

Hotch made a grunt of agreement. ‘You should get some sleep.’

Morgan nodded. ‘Wake me up in a few so you can get some sleep,’ he said, trying not to make it an order. He was pretty sure that left to his own devices, Hotch would probably undertake all of sentry duty by himself, which wasn’t particularly optimal.

The next few days were going to be hell.


	21. Chapter 21

It was pitch dark when Garcia awoke. She wasn’t surprised to have woken; for a long time, she’d been a light sleeper. It paid to keep one eye open when there were people after you. Grateful that she had ended up on the edge of the bed, rather than in the middle, she slid out, letting her feet touch the ground silently. Silence was another thing that was useful when you were on the run.

Emily and JJ were both still fast asleep. So were the occupants of the other bed, as far as she could tell, but she wasn’t inclined to go poking around to find out.

She stepped into the other room to find Kevin keeping watch, to her eternal surprise. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to keep an eye on things; he had been on the run as long as she had, after all. It was mostly the fact that she would have sworn that both Morgan and Hotch would have jumped off a cliff before willingly handed control over to someone else.

‘I told Morgan that he wouldn’t be so macho in the morning if he was falling asleep on the spot,’ Kevin explained, a somewhat proud look on his face. The gun seemed awkward in his grip, as though he didn’t really want to be using it. If it came down to it, though, he would. She’d been with him long enough to know that much.

She sat down at the small table while he paced. ‘What are we going to do when this is all over?’

Kevin didn’t answer straight away. ‘We’re never going to be living the high life, P. It’s never going to be penthouse apartments, and expensive champagne. I’m not just talking about practicality; it might be nice for a while, but I know after a few days of that, I’d be itching for my rundown, one-bedroom craphole, and sitting in my underpants coding until 3am. Maybe that’s all we can really hope for.’

‘And what if we don’t win?’

‘Then I guess it’s all a pipe dream, anyway, Batgirl. All we can ask for is enough bacon donuts to last until our untimely deaths.’

Garcia wrinkled her brow. ‘You can keep your ungodly concoctions, Nightwing. I think I’ll stick with the weevil-infested sugar.’

‘You can’t just _eat_ sugar. At least bacon donuts have at least two of the food groups…I think.’

‘You are underestimating the amount of protein found in weevils, ma chérie.’ There was a long silence, but it wasn’t an awkward one. Kevin was her best friend, and they’d been running together for two years. They didn’t always need words to communicate. Sometimes, it was just nice to be close to someone; she respected Derek a lot, but they’d only known each other for a few days. Maybe one day, they’d have that kind of friendship.

If they didn’t get themselves killed first.

Knowing that Kevin didn’t need any more distractions, she excused herself to the bathroom – the reason she had woken in the first place. It wasn’t the most appealing of facilities, but then, they weren’t planning on sticking around for too long anyway. Both the toilet and the shower looked as though they hadn’t been cleaned properly in several decades. It was an older building, so everything was manual, but it did what it was supposed to do.

She examined her face in the cracked mirror, noting the days old makeup, and the bags under her eyes. Maybe one day it would be possible to settle down, live in a place for more than a week at a time, fall in love, raise a family, all that clichéd crap that seemed so important north of the river. That was what she kept telling herself to make it less appealing, anyway. It wasn’t as though they had a monopoly on happiness on the other side. Garcia had seen a lot of happiness in the slums; you didn’t need a gold-plated refrigerator to make your kids happy.

On both sides, there was only really one persistent problem, and that was the problem they were working to fix. Toss out the bad apple. Or at least, cut off the rotten bits. There were still good people in the Corp, it was just the fact that some of them were naïve, or powerless to fight back.

Maybe one day that would change. Maybe they would be the ones to change it. Maybe they’d all die horribly instead. The thought kept replaying itself in her mind, over and over again, like a broken record. She’d never even _seen _a broken record before, so maybe the analogy was a little outdated.

According to her watch, it was almost five a.m. It was getting closer and closer to winter every day; sunrise wouldn’t be for a while yet. In any case, Garcia was unsurprised when the rest of the group started to stir.

There wasn’t much in the way of food, so for breakfast it was black coffee again, but this time they had dry, stale cereal as well. Compared to some of the things that Garcia had been forced to eat over the years, it was a breakfast of royalty.

In spite of the sleep they’d gotten, everyone still looked worn out; Emily’s skin was pale and clammy, and JJ excused herself to the bathroom midway through a spoonful of dry oatmeal. They heard the sound of her retching over the deadly silence.

‘So,’ Morgan said finally, and Garcia watched his eyes travel around the table. ‘What now?’


	22. Chapter 22

There was a moment of silence, as they all pondered the question. What _could_ they do next?

‘I need to take a look at that chip,’ Emily said finally, her voice strained. Her face seemed even paler this morning than it had been last night; sleep apparently hadn’t helped all that much. ‘If we know what’s on there, then we can have a better idea of how to fight back.’

Morgan frowned. It wasn’t an idea that held much appeal – yes, they needed to know what was on the chip, but it was a big risk. There was no telling whether it was safe to read the data – there could be some kind of tracking program on the chip for one thing. The other possibility that he didn’t want to consider was that one of the group was a traitor. Hotch and JJ he trusted with his life, and he hadn’t really known the rest of them long enough to make a judgment call. Trust didn’t come easily in this world.

Emily seemed to interpret that single facial expression. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I don’t care if you hold a fucking gun to my head while I read it, but if we don’t know what’s going on, then we’re walking into this blind.’

‘You’re telling me you don’t know _anything_ about what’s going on?’

Emily drummed her fingers against the table, and Morgan didn’t even need to look around to know that both Garcia and Reid getting uncomfortable at the building tension.

‘I risked my _life_ to get you what I know. The Corp doesn’t exactly send out a newsletter titled “Our Deepest Darkest Secrets.” There’s a reason they want that chip back, and if there is a way of bringing them down, it’s in those files.’

Morgan turned to Garcia, whose eyes were wide in shock. ‘If we try and decrypt what’s on that chip, can you stop any signals from getting out?’

‘I can disable the network connections, but if it takes control of the computer, then all I can do is rip out the battery, and hope that we stopped it before they managed to track us down.’

‘We should be ready to move, then,’ Hotch said. ‘If something happens, then we can be out of here in less than a minute; split up, and meet back in the Western District.’

‘Wait – near the shore?’ JJ asked, a frown on her face. ‘That’s suicide, Hotch.’

‘They won’t be expecting it,’ Morgan argued. ‘They’ll be tearing apart the more secure areas.’

‘So we open ourselves to capture? You know as well as I do what happens in the Western Districts.’ There was a moment of tense silence. As far as they knew, Will had been in the Western Districts when he disappeared. She looked towards Emily. ‘Do you…do you know what happens to the people that get taken from there?’

Emily didn’t answer right away. It wasn’t the easiest question _to_ answer.

‘Chances are, he’s still alive,’ was the answer that she finally gave. ‘I don’t know where it is, but I’m pretty sure they get taken to a brainwashing facility.’ Her tone of voice told Morgan that brainwashing probably wasn’t the only thing that went on at this facility. ‘Your friend – Elle – they probably did the same thing to her.’

‘So there’s still a chance he could be saved?’ Hotch queried, to which Emily gave a strange gesture that seemed half shrug, half nod. She wiped a line of sweat from her brow.

‘“Maybe” is the best answer I can give.’

Silence seemed to be the order of the day. After their impromptu meeting, the group split apart, still undecided on the best course of action to take. Morgan knew that Emily was right, but their lives and their freedom depended on not screwing this up.

He found her in the bathroom, bent over the sink.

‘Hey, Monta…Emily. I just wanted to say – sorry. I didn’t mean to accuse you of being a traitor…it’s just.’

‘You don’t have to explain to me,’ she said, turning on the tap, and watching the water run down the sink. It was a few seconds before it turned from dirty to clear, at which point Emily began to splash her face. ‘I’ve been fighting this battle for a long time. I know…I know you’re just trying to protect your friends. I get that. But if we fail, then they’ll be as good as dead, anyway. And being on the run is no way to live your life.’

‘I hear that,’ he said with a grimace.

Emily gave him a bitter smile before coughing loudly into her hand. He saw the blood before she could wash it away.

‘Don’t,’ she told him sharply, as he opened his mouth to call out for Hotch. A little softer, ‘…don’t tell them.’

He shut the door, not wanting anyone to overhear their conversation. ‘What’s going on?’

Emily gave a shaky smile, a thin rivulet of blood trickling from her lip. She let out a breath, and a small pink bubble popped. ‘The Corp…they don’t like traitors.’

‘_They_ did this to you? How?’

Emily shook her head. ‘I don’t know…some kind of poison, I think. It’ll keep getting worse and worse until I go to them for the antidote.’

‘Will it kill you?’

She shook her head, giving a bitter laugh. ‘That’s not part of the grand plan. If I die, then they can’t torture me for information. It’s designed to cause pain without causing permanent damage.’ She gave another cough, which quickly evolved into a retch, and the morning’s breakfast ended up in the toilet, accompanied by more blood.

‘The place where they do the brainwashing – would they have the antidote there?’

‘I don’t know,’ Emily said, wiping her chin with a few squares of toilet paper. ‘Probably, if they’re dealing with turncoats.’

‘Then that’s where we need to go.’

‘Morgan-’

‘Don’t argue with me on this, Montana. Will’s there, the antidote’s there…Hell, depending on what we find on that chip, any chance we have of bringing down the Corp is there?’

‘What do you mean?’ Emily asked, in a shaky voice. It was less fear, and more the blood poisoning that the Corp had inflicted on her.

‘If we can expose their work on brainwashing, and whatever else they’re doing, they’ll be cut down at the knees. The public don’t mind a faceless, apathetic corporation in charge, but the moment you start bring real evil into the picture, you might as well cut them down at the knees.’

Emily shook her head. ‘This is gonna be one hell of a family reunion,’ she muttered.


	23. Chapter 23

Morgan followed Emily back into the dining room. With seven people, the small apartment was already overcrowded. Even if they didn't end up going in search of an antidote, they were going to have to find another place to stay.

Emily, to her credit, had recomposed herself well. If he hadn't known, he wouldn't have been overly perturbed by the paleness of her skin, or the darkness of the bags under her eyes. After all, they were all tired, and cranky.

'Do you have a write-blocker?' Emily asked Garcia, who raised her eyebrows. The hacker dug through her laptop bag quickly, producing something that looked like a memory card reader.

'What is it?' Morgan frowned.

'It stops anything from being written to the card,' Garcia told him. 'Unless they've done something hinky with their files, it should hopefully stop the card from doing anything hinky to the computer in return. But like I told you, I'll disconnect it from the network anyway. Hardware can always be bypassed with a few lines of well-placed code.'

'Well then couldn't it just reconnect?'

'Not if I take out the network card.' She frowned, as if the thought had only just come to her. 'In that case, then unless there's some kind of tracking built into the chip, we should be okay.'

'If they could track the chip, they would have done it already,' Kevin provided, helpfully.

Garcia plugged the write-blocker into the appropriate slot, before bringing up a command console with a few strokes of the keyboard. 'I wrote a program to synthesize the data into a readable form,' she said, moving back to let Emily take a look.

Several minutes passed. 'It's not any encryption mechanism I'm familiar with,' Emily finally announced.

'So…what exactly does that mean?'

'Generally, most Corp data is encrypted under the same kind of structure. A rotating cypher – the data is never the same if you're looking at the encrypted message. You can't crack it without both the key, and the program used to encrypt it.'

'Or a back door,' Garcia interjected. 'But even the back door is triple-deadlocked.'

'Right,' Emily agreed, apparently not even bothering to ask how Garcia was so familiar with Corp encryption schemes. 'Really, there's no perfect code. Every time the cryptographers try something new, the ha—the cryptanalysts will break it within a week.'

'What you really want to do is have the cryptanalysts make the codes,' Kevin added. 'Because they know all the tricks. Even then, they're not fool-proof.'

Emily seemed to not have heard him, her eyes glazing over as she read through the screen readout. 'This probably comes from the Department of Security. Maybe Department of Intelligence. They'll have multiple forms of encryption.'

'Maybe it's not even encrypted at all,' Morgan suggested. 'It could be corrupted.'

'I doubt we'd even be able to access it if that were the case,' Reid said.

'Guys.' JJ's voice came from the door. Morgan hadn't even realized she wasn't with them. 'You need to see this.'

She led them back into the living area, where the news was playing at low volume.

'"Administrator of Transport kidnapped by terrorists,"' Morgan said, caught halfway between amusement and annoyance. The fact that they were considered terrorists was laughable, but it was also incredibly dangerous if anyone tried to stop them.

'I guess this is the first time anyone's actually cared this much about transport,' Emily said, grimacing.

'Well they do get very upset when the trains aren't on time,' JJ offered.

'Actually, compared to other industries, the Department of Transport is highly efficient,' Reid added. 'Aside from a few suicides, there are hardly ever any incidents.'

Emily frowned. 'Thanks, I think.'

'The news will be different tomorrow,' Hotch said. He didn't often say much, but when he did, it somehow always sounded like it belonged in their manifesto. If they had one.

Minutes stretched into hours. The main problem was boredom. Without knowing exactly how they were going to move forward, they couldn't do much at all. It was all well and good to fantasise about destroying an evil entity, but it wasn't something that could be done without a way to get him inside.

Morgan had resigned himself to the fact that he was going alone. Neither Garcia, Kevin nor Reid had enough experience, and there was no way he was going to let JJ or Emily come with him, regardless of what they said. If Hotch went with him, then he couldn't guarantee everyone else's safety. He still couldn't, of course, but at least there was a better chance of everyone else making it out alive.

It was a surprise, then, when Garcia came up to him. 'I'm going with you,' she told him matter-of-factly.

'No way,' Morgan shot back, before he'd even properly processed her words. There was no way in hell he was gonna let her fall into the lion's den with him.

'I want to find out how to crack that file, and maybe their systems will tell me how to do it.'

'It's too dangerous.'

'So why are you going then, hotstuff?'

_Because I can take care of myself,_ he almost said, before remembering that Garcia had been taking care of herself for a long time before he had shown up. 'Because they'll stop at nothing to get you to tell them where that chip is.'

'And if we can't figure out how to break it, then we're as good as dead anyway.'

'Can't you copy it? Distribute over the net?'

Garcia hesitated. It didn't take Morgan long to figure out why she was so hesitant. The reason she hadn't distributed the file was the same reason she hadn't cracked it. Simply having the thing was the one thing in her life that she could actually control.

'I'll do you a deal, then. You can come with me, if you put it up. Call it damage control. If we can't crack it, someone else will.'

'Done,' Garcia said, almost immediately. With a small smile, she added, 'But if I can't crack it, I don't think anyone will be able to. I'm the best.'

Morgan believed her.

Another hour passed, and JJ, Kevin and Reid were playing cards at the dining room table. Garcia was working on the file. He wasn't sure where Hotch was.

'We'll need someone to take us in,' Emily told him. They were sitting on the couch, feet resting on the coffee table. Her eyes were starting to glaze over again, and her words were a little slurred.

'It can't be you,' he said, frowning. 'Unless you've been secretly brainwashed, I don't think they'd ever buy it.'

_In any case, I think you should stay behind._

'I wasn't going to suggest that.' She gave him a look of irritation. 'I know someone that can help us out.'

'When you say "help us out…'"

'Well we can't exactly just go up to a Corp agent and demand to be arrested. We need someone we trust to take you in.'

'And you have someone that you trust.'

'I have someone that hasn't let me down before.' She didn't exactly sound certain of her words, but then, Morgan knew she was right. No-one would buy it if he "accidentally" let himself get caught. 'I'm going to make a call.'

Between the seven of them, they had a single secure phone, which Emily took to the other side of the room. She didn't seem overly concerned as to whether or not he was listening in.

The first part of the conversation, he missed, distracted by the sound of gunfire from several blocks away. In this neighborhood, not unusual.

'I know you didn't betray me,' she was saying. 'But someone did – I still don't know who.' She gave Morgan a quick glance as she said it, but it didn't seem like an accusing glance. In any case, she was right. Somewhere, someone, was keeping tabs on them.

Leaving her to her phone call, he returned to packing his bag, knowing that half of it would be useless anyway, once they got in. Still, it was always good to have a lifeline, and he knew Garcia felt the same way. She was still, as far as he was aware, running some decryption algorithms on the file and prepping it for distribution.

When he returned to the living area half an hour later, he found Emily on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Her skin was clammy, but she still seemed fairly lucid. 'How're you doing?'

'It comes in waves,' she told him. 'One minute I'll be fine, the next I'm coughing up blood again. When stage two hits, it'll be worse.'

'"Stage two?"' he repeated. 'How many stages are there, exactly?'

'I don't know. Four, I think?' She seemed unfazed. 'You'll have to tie me down by the end. Agents who've been poisoned will either crawl back, begging for forgiveness, or put a bullet in their brains.'

'We'll find the antidote,' Morgan told her emphatically. 'We'll find the antidote, and we'll find Will, and we'll figure out what the hell they're doing.'

'You say "we," but I can hear what you're really thinking.'

'I don't think you should come.'

'There it is.' She gave a sad smile. 'It doesn't matter where I am, Derek. Here, or there…I'm already dead.'

'Nobody's going to die,' he said firmly. 'I am not going to let that happen. We're going to win this, Emily.'

Ignoring him, she handed over a small black leather case. 'I set up a meeting for you – 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. You'll probably recognize the man you're meeting, but you can trust him with your life.'

Morgan frowned, not even bothering to look at the case. It wasn't something he could handle at that point. 'What do you mean, I'll recognize him? Is he an agent?' She was no longer listening, her eyes closed in sleep.

In the dining room, the tension was heavy. It wasn't that anyone was particularly angry at anyone else, but they were all on edge.

'Once we've gone, you should find a new place to stay,' Morgan instructed Hotch, who really didn't need to be told why.

Kevin, however, took it upon himself to ask, 'Why?'

Morgan gave him a look, but it was Garcia who answered. 'Because, Sugarpuff, you do not want to be here if they start torturing us for information and this address just happens to come up.'

'Oh,' was all Kevin said.

That night, when he slept, it was restless.

His body and mind were both exhausted, but he was too wired for it to make any difference. When he did manage to sleep, it was only for a couple of hours.

In the morning, Morgan was woken by the rising sun. He found Garcia in the kitchen, eating cocoa puffs with yoghurt. They didn't have any milk.

Like him, she looked as though she'd barely slept a wink.

Everyone else was already up, in various stages of wakefulness. Kevin had fallen asleep at the table. Reid was reading what looked like a textbook on Quantum Whatever Theory.

At seven thirty, he stood. 'Ready?' he asked Garcia, who gave a forced smile.

'Good luck,' Reid said, his voice quivering just the slightest bit. Everyone else echoed the same sentiments. Kevin stood up and gave them both a hug.

Garcia and Morgan shared a glance. 'Alright, chocolate thunder,' Garcia said. 'Let's go save the world.'


End file.
